A Day To Remember
by Maryilee
Summary: Eric’s focus narrowed to the barrel of the gun. The small black hole filled his vision. Would he see the bullet as it spun down the barrel? Would the sound of the gunshot reach his ears an instant before impact?
1. Chapter 1

A Day to Remember

Friday Night Lights

No copyright infringement intended, just borrowing the characters.

Thank you to my awesome beta readers—Myrina, who volunteered to beta this for me even though she didn't even know me. Thank you so much! You totally rock! Also, thanks to moonbunny, who beta'd chapters eight, and nine, I believe. :-)

A special thank you to Monstermoof4me, who has been prodding me to finish and has always been available for a quick read through of new parts—even if it was only a paragraph or two.

And, finally, thanks to some of the FNL fans who took the time to give me some character feedback—Ran Cansley, graymalkin and rigginsgirl.

I take credit for all errors. :-)

* * *

"Cedric Benson finally got some touches yesterday." Eric Taylor polished off the last of his bagel then brushed the crumbs off his fingers.

"What, hon?" Tami Taylor glanced up from her 'To Do' list and took a sip from her giant mug of coffee. Bright sunlight streamed through the family room and kitchen from the patio sliders. In the glare of the light, she noticed several smudges on the glass and sighed; one more thing to add to her list.

Eric flipped the sports section closed. "You know…Benson. The Bears' running back?"

Tami shook her head, her eyes wide. "Sorry. The name doesn't ring a bell, sugar."

"You don't remember him? He went to UT a few years back." Eric stood and shoved the stool under the breakfast bar. He grabbed his Panther cap off the top of the fridge and glanced at his watch. "We better get going."

Tami nodded and dumped her coffee into the sink, watching with regret as the rich brown liquid swirled down the drain. Someday she would actually have time to finish the whole cup. Today was not the day, though. They would have to hurry if they were to get to school on time.

"Jules!"

Shaking her head, Tami turned to Eric. "Could you see what's keeping her? I need to get a few things."

"Sure, babe."

Taking a step in the direction of the hallway, Eric bellowed, "Julie!" His job done, he strolled to the front door.

"Oh, that was so helpful, Coach," Tami muttered with a roll of her eyes. She gathered up her daily planner and her cell phone. Darn, it was down to its last bar. But it was too late now. She threw it in her bag anyway and slung the bag over her shoulder. Turning, Tami caught a fleeting glimpse of long blond hair as Julie flew around the corner from the hallway and into the foyer.

"Come on, Mom! Dad! I have a study session before first period so I can't be late!" The front door slammed, rattling the windows.

Taking a last look around the kitchen, Tami made sure the coffee maker was off and shut a partially opened cabinet before following her family out the door.

* * *

Matt Saracen stuffed his chemistry notebook, his English homework and a couple of energy bars into his book bag.

"Grandma, I gotta work right after practice, but there's a Swanson dinner in the freezer, okay? It's your favorite kind—the one with chicken fingers." He surveyed the kitchen table as he spoke, sighing at the stack of bills piled at one end. He mentally added bill-paying to his list of chores for the day.

"And a brownie?"

Matt pushed his grandma's array of pills closer to her cereal bowl and smiled. "Yeah, it's the kind with the brownie. Don't forget to take your pills."

"I won't." Dutifully, she put her spoon down and swallowed her medicine. "There. Now, you go on." She shooed him out with a wave of her hands.

"Love you, Grandma."

Her face lit with a smile. "And remember what I told you about keeping your shoulder up when you throw the football."

Matt grinned. "I will. I will. I gotta go. Landry's here." He dropped a swift kiss on the top of her head then dashed out the door.

* * *

Yawning, Tim Riggins opened the fridge and stood staring at its contents, scratching absently at his belly for a few seconds before pulling out the remains of last night's dinner. He debated whether he should nuke it, but decided to eat it cold.

Finished, he got out the gallon of milk and, not bothering with a glass, just drank it straight from the jug. He swiped his hand over the back of his mouth and set the milk back in the fridge. Billy had already left for work, but Tim saw that his brother had left him a few bucks on the counter. Pocketing the bills, he found his book bag where he had left it by the front door, grabbed his truck keys and headed to school.

He hoped to get there early enough to get a chance to speak to Lyla. He normally saw her after first period football practice, but he had received a summons to meet with the guidance counselor today at the end of first period, so he knew he wouldn't be able to catch her then. He just had to see her. His stomach knotted up at the prospect of not getting at least a glimpse of her today.

* * *

"Lord, you've been eating like a horse lately! I'm gonna have to work some overtime just to keep you fed. Keep eating like that and working out, and you'll be as big as Terrell Owens." Mrs. Williams scooped another spoonful of scrambled eggs out of the frying pan and deposited them on her son's plate

She shook her head, feigning exasperation, but Brian "Smash" Williams could hear the pride in his momma's voice. He shrugged off the feeling of guilt that stole through him. He had to do what he had to do. His family depended on it. Everything would be fine.

He quickly swallowed one last bite of eggs. "I might be a little late after practice, Momma. I have that S.A.T. class."

Brian fingered the cash in his pocket. He was a little short, but he hoped that he-woman would let him slide this week and give him the full cocktail of steroids. He was getting his first paycheck at the end of the week then he would be able to make up the difference. Man, that first check was a long time coming. It seemed like he had been swirling ice cream cones forever already.

* * *

Alan Foster sighed, a sense of calm washing over him. Today was the day. He gathered the items he planned on taking to school and arranged them on his bed. Admiring the gleaming metal, he lightly traced a finger over the barrel of the nine-millimeter handgun. Extra clips nestled against the butt of the gun. The long blade of his hunting knife flashed as the bedroom curtain fluttered and sunlight danced across the mirror-like surface. He had spent an hour cleaning and sharpening the weapon last night.

He smiled as he remembered how excited he had been when his dad had given it to him for his thirteenth birthday. What a great birthday that had been! He had received the knife along with his first hunting rifle. The next day, his dad and his uncle had taken him hunting. It was the best day three days of his life. They had camped at night and hunted during the day. The air had been cool and crisp and the skies overcast, but that had been good because then the sun didn't get in his eyes when he'd had a buck in his sights.

"Alan! Hurry! You'll be late for school!"

He startled out of his reverie and grabbed a roll of duct tape off his desk, tearing off a strip. "I'll be right down, Mom!"

He quickly taped the knife to the outside of his right calf, pulling his pant leg down to cover it. Tearing off a longer strip, he stuck the gun in his right pocket, easing it through the seam he had ripped out earlier. He taped it to the outside of his thigh, liking the feel of the gun resting firmly above his knee. His baggy jeans concealed the outlines of the weapons. He stashed the extra clips in his left front pocket. They caused a slight sag to his pants, but he wasn't worried about that. If anyone asked, he could say it was his Ipod.

Not that anyone would ask.

* * *

"Hey y'all! That was a good, hard practice out there today." Eric slapped Smash on the shoulder pad, and lightly rapped on Matt's helmet as he strode into the locker room. "Be sure to drink some water before you head to class."

Coach walked towards his office, stopping for a few minutes to pull some old announcements off the bulletin board. A flyer for the pancake breakfast benefit that had been held for Jason Street caught his eye. A day didn't go by that Eric didn't miss the kid's enthusiasm for the game. His energy seemed to infuse practices with an infectious excitement. Coach slowly crumpled the flyer. Street had been a hell of a quarterback; he was still a hell of a young man. Already it was apparent that despite the crippling injury, Street had turned his energy towards creating a new life for himself. A life that didn't include football.

Eric's fist clenched, crushing the flyer into a tight, hard ball. He fired it into the nearest trashcan. Quickly, he snatched a few more outdated flyers off the board then tossed them into the garbage too. Glancing at his watch, he headed for his office. He paused to take his own advice by grabbing a quick swig of water from the drinking fountain.

"Hey, Coach?"

Straightening, Eric swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and turned towards the voice of his assistant coach. "Yeah, Mack?"

"We're all heading over to the cafeteria to get some breakfast. Are you coming?"

Eric shook his head. "No. I ate at home, but thanks for asking. Take your time, though. I have some things to look over before our meeting this morning."

Mack nodded and started to say something, but turned instead to a couple of players who were roughhousing. He pointed a finger towards the locker room doors. "Git on to class, Pudnick! If you have that much energy still, we can make the practices a whole lot harder, right, Coach?"

Eric grinned. "Absolutely. What do you say we add some more wind sprints, Mack?"

"No! No, that's okay, Coach! We're going, we're going!" Grabbing their book bags, they scrambled for the door.

Mack turned back to Eric, a wide smile creasing his face. "Gets them every time." Laughing, he followed the boys out the door with a couple of other coaches trailing after him.

Eric took a quick glance around the locker room, checking to be certain that there was no more horseplay going on. Only a few players remained. Matt Saracen straddled a bench while digging through his open book bag, and Smash stood beside his locker guzzling a bottle of water.

"Hurry up, guys. Second period starts in a few minutes."

* * *

"Uh, Mrs. Taylor? You wanted to see me?"

Tami looked up from the file she was perusing and smiled. "Hi, Tim. Come on in, and have a seat."

The young man shuffled in and plopped into the chair across from his guidance counselor. He fiddled with a cuticle on his thumb, his head down.

Tami folded her arms on the desk and studied Tim. Her heart had gone out to him when he and his brother had been over to dinner a few weeks ago; what a disaster that had been! It was sad how intensely he had defended his father against his older brother's disparaging comments about the man. She never ceased to be amazed at how forgiving children could be of their parents.

"So, how are you doing, Tim?"

Tim darted a look at her, his gaze shifting to the floor when their eyes met. He shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

You have a real shot of getting a football scholarship to some school, but it would help if your grades were a bit higher."

"Sure. Whatever." Tim fidgeted, his finger working at a tiny hole in the leg of his jeans. He lifted his head, a smirk on his face. "You really think I got a shot?"

His voice held disbelief but Tami thought she could detect a tiny bit of hope. She shrugged one shoulder. "It might be a small school, but the important thing is getting the chance to continue your edu--."

Screaming and commotion out in the hallway stopped Tami from what she was about to say. Cocking her head, she stood and stepped around the desk. "Would you excuse me for a minute?"

Tami opened the door to the hallway outside the guidance office. A half-dozen students ran past her, a look of panic on their faces. As though someone had thrown a switch, her heart began beating double-time. First period wouldn't end for a few more minutes, so the halls were mostly empty. She suddenly saw a boy she knew by name. "Michael!"

Michael veered towards her. His eyes were wide, and he kept looking back over his shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Taylor. Someone said a kid had a gun."

"Come in here." Tami pulled him into the office area, shutting the door and locking it. "Do you know anything else?"

The boy shook his head. "Not really, ma'am. It sounded like someone said he was going towards the back hallway."

Her mouth went dry. The back hallway was the where the locker rooms were--where Eric was. She wracked her brain trying to think where Julie would be right now. English. That's right, she would be taking a test in English, and after that she had gym class. Gym!

Tami ran for her desk phone, ignoring Tim. She absently noted, though, that he had left her office and was now speaking to Michael. She dialed the principal's extension, after the third ring, her finger began tapping the desk. Pick up the damn phone! Her eyes shot to the clock. They had to announce a lockdown, and they had to do it now before the period ended allowing the students out into the halls.

After the tenth ring, a secretary finally answered. Tami quickly explained the crisis to the harried woman, who, in turn told Tami that they had also heard about it. As they were speaking, the principal's voice came over the PA system announcing the code for a lockdown.

Tami hung up and began to herd Tim and Michael into an interior office. She then beckoned a couple of other students who were also sitting in the waiting area, to move to the safer location.

As they headed towards a secretary's office without any windows, Tim hung back.

"Go on, Tim." Tami pushed him gently from behind.

He turned to her, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Taylor, but I can't. I gotta go."

Before she could stop him, he shook off her restraining hand and bolted out the office door. Tami stood, torn between seeing to the safety of the students still in her care and following Tim. She wanted desperately to dash out the door herself and find her family, but her sense of duty won out. She re-locked the door behind Tim and said a silent prayer that the whole thing was a false alarm.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric entered his office and, snatching his cap off his head; tossed it onto his desk. Sighing, he plopped down into his chair and absently scratched the back of his neck. His least favorite task lay in front of him—budgeting. Somehow, he had to stretch the equipment budget just a little bit more. One of the tackling sleds had old, worn cushions and needed new ones. He'd hoped it would make it through the season, but just today one of the players had torn through the cover with an especially hard hit. That, added to a half dozen other minor emergencies, had left Eric with a problem that required some creative solutions.

"Damn!" Eric pulled his pencil from behind his ear, erasing a previous low-ball estimate and inserting the actual cost of the cushion replacement.

"Coach!" Matt Saracen burst through his office door, tugging Julie behind him.

Eric's head shot up, his pencil dropping and rolling off the desk unnoticed. The tone of Matt's voice had struck a note of fear in Eric's heart. "What? What's wrong?" His daughter had never been in his office before.

Matt's eyes were wide with fear, and Julie practically launched herself at Eric.

"Dad!"

Catching her, he briefly allowed her to cling to his neck, before gently pulling back. "What's going on?" He smoothed her hair behind one ear.

"We have to go, Dad." Julie grabbed her dad's hand and tried to pull him towards the locker room.

Matt kept shooting glances over his shoulder. "Sir, there's…there's a kid out there with a gun! He's coming this way!"

Before Eric could reply, the principal came on the public address system announcing the code for a lockdown. As though someone had injected him full of adrenaline, Eric's heart began racing. Swearing quietly, he stood and quickly walked around the desk.

"Are you sure?" His gaze darted to the door to the hallway. It wasn't locked. Neither was the entrance to the locker room from the hall.

Matt nodded. "I…I saw the gun." His Adam's apple bobbed and he continued in a low shaky voice. "He busted up the trophy case in the front hall. And, he…he was screaming about how he hated jocks."

Eric's gaze locked on Matt's. Did he realize what that meant? Where do you go to find jocks? _A locker room. _He stepped around the couple and carefully opened the office door. He needed to lock the door directly to the locker room, and it was faster to do it from the outer hallway rather than go around to the inner hallway. At the far end of the corridor, Eric could hear shouting and random crashes. It sounded like someone was kicking lockers. Someone who was having a really bad day. He rushed back into his office and slammed the door. The click of the flimsy lock did little to make him feel more secure. He took a quick peek out the long vertical window. The crashing was getting closer.

The coach's first thought was for his daughter. He didn't know how she came to be with Matt at that moment, and he didn't have time to care. Eric grabbed his keys out of his pocket, he shoved them at Matt.

He wanted to see to Julie's safety himself, but as the coach, he had to worry about the other kids too and see if there was anything he could do to help. A sudden terrifying thought slammed into his brain. What if there was more than one kid? What if he sent them out the back door towards the parking lot and another kid with a gun was lying in wait? _Dear Lord, please let there only be one! _As he spoke, he herded them towards the locker room. "Y'all only saw one kid, right?"

Julie nodded.

Matt answered, "Yes, sir. At least, we didn't see any others. He was pretty far down the hall though."

Eric thought quickly, he couldn't take the chance on sending them outside. "Okay. Look, take that red key there. It's to the equipment room. Go stay there with Julie."

The equipment room had received a brand new heavy-duty steel door and deadbolt lock after it had been broken into during rivalry week. Eric had jokingly referred to it as tighter than Fort Knox after its installation. He prayed it was as secure as it looked.

Matt started to turn away, but Eric grabbed his arm with one hand while he fished his cell phone out with the other. "Here, take this! Call the police—" Eric stopped abruptly as the sound of breaking glass filtered through the door from the hallway. He pushed them towards the locker room. "_**Go!**_"

"What about you, Dad?" Tears welled in Julie's eyes.

"I'll be fine, hon. Git!" Eric watched for a second as they disappeared into the locker room before he rushed back towards his office, intent on calling the office and reporting the commotion he'd heard. He thought he heard Riggins in the hallway. He reached for the doorknob only to jump back when the door flew open.

It slammed against the wall with a resounding crash, chipping the cement block and sending small shards flying. "Get back!"

A tall, lanky boy with scraggly brown hair stood behind Tim Riggins. His face was strangely calm, but sweat dripped down the boy's face. In his hand, he held a large gun. It was aimed squarely at Riggins back.

Tim looked scared but angry. "Sorry, Coach. He made me kick the door in."

"Shut-up, Riggins!" The boy gave Tim a little shove forward. "Where's everybody else?"

Eric glanced at Tim and nodded briefly, his focus immediately shifting back to the kid with the gun. "It's just me. Who else were you expecting?"

The kid's face twisted into an ugly snarl. "The damn team! The whole fuckin' team shoulda been here!" He gave Tim another shove, and this time, it was hard and sent him stumbling forward. Tim just managed to catch himself from falling by grabbing onto the edge of Eric's desk. Instinctively, the coach reached out to steady him.

"Don't move!" The kid trained the gun on Eric. Quickly, he reached down and pulled a large hunting knife from his calf, hardly flinching as he ripped the tape off.

Eric froze, his hand still outstretched. "It's okay. Nobody's moving."

Tim slowly straightened, his body half-turned towards the agitated kid.

The boy paced a few steps glancing into the empty locker room. He lashed out with his foot, sending the office trashcan flying against the opposite wall. "The whole team was supposed to be here! What am I gonna do now? I was planning on taking out all of 'em!"

"Look, son, you don't want to do that. You got a problem with the team or individual players, you come to me." Eric tried his best to keep his voice calm, but he wasn't sure how successful he was.

The kid let out a harsh burst of laughter. "I ain't your _son_, Coach," he sneered. "I'm _nobody's_ son anymore!"

"What's your name?" Eric lowered his arms slowly and glanced at Tim, glad to see the sometimes hotheaded young man was remaining calm.

"My name's Alan." He stepped up into Eric's face. "Alan Foster. Don't you remember me, _Coach_?" He brought the knife up, resting it lightly against the left side of the coach's neck.

Unable to stop himself, Eric took a half-step back, halting when he backed into the front of his desk and almost fell. He reached back with his right arm to catch his balance and knocked the desk lamp to the floor, the light bulb shattered with a loud crash. Eric flinched at the noise.

A sharp sting at his throat froze him, and he sensed Tim move forward. The sting suddenly became deeper, sharper. Eric grunted in pain. He looked frantically at Tim and gave him the tiniest shake of his head.

Tim stopped his movement but he didn't look happy about it.

Eric swallowed hard, feeling the knife point dig in as his adam's apple bobbed. "I'm sorry, Alan. I see lots of kids." He wracked his memory trying to recall ever seeing Foster before but couldn't come up with anything.

"Yeah, I guess you do, Coach. And I guess you only remember the ones who make the team…not the kids you cut? Right?" Foster smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Does that ring a bell, Coach? I tried my hardest, but you thought I wasn't good enough." He applied more pressure to the knife. "I should cut you like you cut me!"

Eric's breaths came in short fast pants. He felt a trickle of blood as it slid down his neck. Foster stood toe to toe with him; their eyes locked. Eric suppressed a shiver at the flat, dead look in the boy's eyes. He tried to think of a way to reason with him, but his mind couldn't seem to focus on anything except the knife skewering his neck and the gun now digging into his ribs. Alan pulled the knife down and stepped back. "You still don't remember me do you?"

Eric remained silent for a moment as vague images of a short, pudgy kid fumbling a football flickered through his memory. "You look a lot different now, Foster." It was true. Alan was now almost six feet tall with an athletic build.

Foster rolled his eyes. "Yeah. If I had grown a little sooner, maybe you would have noticed me then. Maybe you would have _remembered_ me. I could have been a really great football player. He stepped back, shaking his head. The gun never wavered.

"What do you want, Foster? Do you want Coach to put you on the team?" Tim looked at Eric. "You can do that, right, Coach?"

"Shut-up, fucker!" Foster lunged forward, smashing the gun against Tim's face.

Tim staggered back, falling across Eric's desk. He clutched his left cheek.

The coach spun towards Tim, but a wave of the gun stopped him in his tracks. Eric's fear gave way to anger. His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at Foster. "Look, son, if you're pissed off about not making the team—be pissed at _me_! Riggins didn't have anything to do with it!"

"Shut-up! He's a football player and football players get _everything_! I'm sick of it!" Foster spat the words at Eric, his eyes wild. He raised the gun. "I may not be able to take out the whole team, but taking out the coach and one of the star players is a pretty big consolation prize."


	3. Chapter 3

Only seconds after shutting the closet door behind them, a loud bang sounded somewhere. Somewhere very close. Next, Matt and Julie heard shouting. Matt flipped on the light switch. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but figured it wouldn't be very obvious during the daytime.

Matt dialed 911, praying that the signal would get through the thick cinder block walls. He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding when the call was answered.

"911. Give me your name and the nature of your emergency please."

His voice low, Matt stuttered, "Matt Saracen. Uh, I'm…we're at the high school and there's a kid with a gun."

"Did you see a gun?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Can you give me his location?"

"Well, we saw him in the south hallway, but I think he's in the coach's office right now."

"Why do you think that?"

"We…heard yelling and stuff coming from there."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm with Julie Taylor, the coach's daughter and we're locked in the equipment room in the boy's locker room."

"Are you safe there?"

Matt looked up at Julie. Her eyes were huge. "I…I think so. He doesn't know we're here."

"Okay, Matt, you and Julie stay where you are. We have officers already on the way to the scene."

"Okay." Matt hung up just as more yelling filtered through to them.

"I'm going out there!" Julie hissed as Matt held her back by the shoulders. She twisted, trying to get away from him.

"You can't!" Matt's harsh whisper echoed in the small room. He tightened his grip and hoped he wasn't hurting her. "Coach told us to stay here!"

Julie glared at him but didn't make another attempt at the door. She crossed her arms, rubbing her hands up and down them as she glanced around. "I think I know who that kid is, Matt. He's in my sociology class."

Extra helmets and shoulder pads were stacked in one corner, their musty scent filling the closet. Matt pulled a couple of boxes off a shelf and pulled back a top flap. Inside he discovered old videotapes from years ago. As quietly as he could, he shoved the boxes against a wall and motioned to Julie to sit on one while he sank down on the other. Matt flinched as more shouting erupted from the direction of the coach's office. He turned to Julie. Her face was pale as she stared at the closed door.

"That was my dad yelling," she said softly as she turned to look at him. Her eyes were bright with tears. She wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned forward. "I'm so scared."

Matt nodded. "Yeah. Me too." He draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close, feeling guilty about the thrill of pleasure that shot through him when she dropped her head on his shoulder. "The police…they…they know where we are, so that should help, right?"

She raised her hand, swiping at her face and nodded. "Right." There was a short pause then, in a tiny voice. "I want to talk to my mom."

Matt pulled out coach's cell phone and handed it over to Julie. "Just be as quiet as you can."

Julie took the phone and dialed her mom's work number. Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor and Matt reached down to stop it, putting a finger to his lips.

Julie pulled the phone from her ear and whispered, "There's no answer. Maybe I should try her cell." With shaking hands, she dialed again. She sat up suddenly. "Mom?" The dam burst as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Mom, I think a kid with a gun has Dad!"

* * *

Tami sat in the chair opposite Alice, the secretary. Michael was slumped in the chair beside her, picking at a wart on his palm. Tami grimaced a looked away. Two girls sat cross-legged on the floor in the corner; one looked frightened, the other bored. Nobody spoke. She wanted to call someone and find out what was going on, but all phone lines were to be kept open except for emergency. She ran her hand through her hair and sighed.

Suddenly, her cell phone rang, and she nearly jumped out of her chair as she fished it out of her pocket. Her heart gave a leap when she saw Eric's name flash across the caller ID screen. "Honey?" Her brow furrowed. "Jules? What are you doing with your dad's phone? Are you okay? Shhhh, it's all right, sweetheart."

Tami stared across the desk, vaguely aware that every eye in the room focused on her. They all waited nervously for news of what was going. "You're in the equipment closet in the boys' locker room?" Tami shook her head in confusion. "_Where's_ your father?"

Tami closed her eyes, her heart racing as Julie relayed that she had heard her dad shouting in his office. _Dear Lord, please keep him safe._

"Okay, listen, hon. You **_stay _**where you are, understand?" She looked around the desk and spotted a pad of paper and a pen and pulled them in front of her. "Do you know who the kid was, Julie?" She scribbled down the name Julie gave her. _"_Do you know_ anything _about him?" Her cell phone beeped and Tami almost swore out loud. The damn battery was about to die.

"Julie, my phone's going dead. I'm going to my office and try to look up files on Foster. Keep in touch with me, okay? Put that phone on vibrate only, then I can call you back." Tami stood and stepped towards the door. "I love you too, sweetheart."

She closed the phone and looked at the four people anxiously awaiting what she had to say. "The kid's name is Alan Foster. Julie says he's a junior." Tami took a deep breath and continued, "Julie said that right now she thinks he's in the boys locker room. She and Matt Saracen saw him in the hall with a gun, then they ran into Coach Taylor's office. He sent them to hide in the equipment room." Tami swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "Then, they heard what sounded like a door slamming or banging. She said she heard her dad yelling." Her hands were shaking as she fumbled to put the cell phone back in her pocket.

Alice stood and circled the desk. She gave Tami a brief hug.

"I know Foster. Sort of, anyway," Michael said. "He was in my English class last year."

Tami turned to him. "If you have any information about him, we need to know it. Come with me. I'm going to my office to pull his file." Tami beckoned to Michael. "Alice, why don't you see what you can find out about Alan Foster, too? See where he lives, his parents' names, phone numbers and whatever else you can find. We need to call the police and give them all the info we have."

With Michael in tow, Tami rushed through the waiting area and into her office. It took her only a few minutes to find the boy's file.

"I know he's really into hunting," Michael volunteered as he sat in the chair opposite Tami's desk.

Tami's head shot up and she nearly dropped the file. "Hunting? _He hunts_?"

Michael squirmed in his chair. "Uh, yeah. He wrote some paper about it." He shrugged. "Half the guys in the school go hunting. It's not that big of a deal."

Tami gave him a long look before dropping her gaze to the file. She sat at her desk and sorted through the papers.

Alan Foster had been a good student in ninth grade but since then had steadily gone downhill. He had seen the previous guidance counselor about some trouble he was having with a group of kids. Tami recognized some of the kids as football players, but not all of them were. He had complained of them harassing him in the hallways. Reading through his descriptions of the altercations, they seemed rather minor. Other than a little shoving, name-calling and generally rude behavior, nothing was all that out of the ordinary in a high school.

There was a report that Foster had been suspended for fighting with one of the boys. The other boy had claimed that Foster had threatened to kill him, but it was his word against Foster's as nobody else heard the threat. Both boys had been suspended three days.

Tami sighed. This wasn't much to go on. The only other thing in his file was a notation that the boy's parents had divorced towards the end of his freshman year. That could explain the drop in grades.

She reached for her phone on her desk. She hoped something in the file would help the police.


	4. Chapter 4

Eric's focus narrowed to the barrel of the gun. The small black hole filled his vision. Would he see the bullet as it spun down the barrel? Would the sound of the gunshot reach his ears an instant before impact? Would he even _feel_ the bullet as it crashed into his brain?

He licked his lips. Ripping his gaze from the gun, his eyes found the picture of Tami and Julie on the table to the right of the office door. His family needed him. They needed his support, his love…his time. He should have made more time for dinners at home, for playing ping-pong with Julie and to sip a glass of wine with Tami.

Time. Eric wanted more _time_.

"Alan." Eric's voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat tried again. "Look, Alan. How can killing people make anything better?"

Foster lowered the gun slightly. "It won't. That's the point." He grinned. "I'm not _trying_ to make things _better._" He stepped up to Eric, glass crunching under his feet, and pressed the knife once more against Eric's throat. "See, my life _sucks_. I hate this school, and I hate everyone in it. And most of all, I hate you, Coach. If it weren't for you, my dad wouldn't have left."

"What did I have to do with your dad leaving?" Eric rasped as the knife dug into his flesh. He was surprised to realize that his fear had faded; he just felt pissed. He was sick of dealing with this kid. If Foster was going to shoot him, then he damn well better do it, because Eric had had enough of this power game. He glared at Foster and felt a small measure of satisfaction when a brief flicker of hesitation flashed through the kid's eyes.

Foster stepped back slightly and eased the pressure from the knife. "My dad... all my life, he talked about how one day I'd be a Dillon Panther just like he used to be. But I didn't make it, and he left." For an instant, Foster sounded lost, and his expression became wistful.

Eric felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he could reason with the boy. "I'm sorry about that, Alan. I just…look, I have a job to do and as much as I'd like to, I can't keep everyone who tries out for the team. It's just not possible."

"But you could have kept _me_! When I was cut…my dad…he didn't care any more."

Eric knew that there had to have been other reasons for the kid's dad leaving. He didn't dare try to explain that--not while the kid held him at gunpoint with a knife poking a hole in his Adam's apple. "I'm sorry your dad left, Alan. Fathers can be real bastards sometimes."

"Huh. You ain't kidding."

Eric turned in surprise at Riggins's muttered agreement but stopped short as the knife sliced into his neck. "Ughhhh!" He brought his hands up reflexively, his motion freezing when Foster shoved the gun into his ribs.

"Don't fuckin' move!"

"Sorry. I didn't…didn't mean to move." Eric held his hands at chest level, fingers spread wide.

"Sorry, Coach." Riggins voice was low, almost a whisper.

"_Shut up_!" Foster glared at Riggins.

His head still partly turned, Eric glanced at the fullback. The player was half-sprawled across the desk on his right side, propped on his elbow. An ugly bruise was already visible on his cheek from the earlier blow. Anger simmered in his eyes, and the player looked like he was about to launch himself at Foster.

"Y'all don't know anything about my dad! He's _not_ a bastard!" Foster's eyes darted wildly from Eric to Riggins. "He only left because I wasn't good enough!"

Eric remained mute, afraid that anything he said would push Foster over the edge. He was thankful when Riggins followed suit. His neck hurt like hell, and he wondered how deep the cut was. Already, he could feel the collar of his shirt getting heavy and wet but thinking about it made him light-headed. He closed his eyes briefly. Pushing the image of a blood-soaked shirt out of his mind, his eyes flew open as the sound of sirens penetrated the cinderblock walls. Eric didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

Foster heard the sirens too and looked back over his shoulder at the broken hallway door. He pulled the knife back. "Get in there!" Using the gun as a prod, he jabbed it roughly into Eric's side to direct him towards the locker room. "You too, Riggins! Come on!"

Eric stumbled as he was shoved from behind, and a second later, Riggins staggered in beside him. Foster slammed the office door shut. "Lock it!"

A refusal wanted to explode from his mouth, but Eric bit it back and reached into his pocket for the keys. He suddenly felt sick as he remembered where those keys were. "I can't."

Foster looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Rushing Eric, he slammed the gun against the side of the coach's head. Eric dropped to one knee, his right hand bracing himself from falling over.

"What do you mean, _you can't_?"

Eric shook his head against the darkness that threatened him. Blinking, he straightened, swaying slightly. "I don't have the keys. You can check." The coach held his arms away from his body in an invitation for Foster to check his pockets.

Tucking the knife into his belt, Foster held the gun in his left hand as he quickly tapped Eric's pockets. "Where are they?"

"I, uh…Mack has them." He didn't dare look at Riggins. The player knew that all the coaches had their own set of keys, and he might inadvertently give that information away with a confused expression.

"You know what? It doesn't even matter, Coach. I'm going to hell, and I'm taking you two with me." He swung the barrel of the gun towards Riggins. "Maybe I'll kill him first. What do you think, Coach?"

Foster yanked the knife from his belt, a smear of blood staining his t-shirt as he withdrew the blade.

Eric saw the stain and swallowed hard. He shot a look at Riggins. The player's eyes met his. If only Foster would step back just a little bit farther, Eric was sure that he could grab the arm with the gun. He was confident that Riggins would jump in and grab the hand holding the knife. Riggins was strong as an ox, and there was no way Foster would come out the winner in a physical battle with him. Eric worried a bit more about the gun. His heart hammered as he took a deep breath.

It was now or never.

Eric lunged at Foster's left hand. His own hands locked around the boy's wrist and the barrel of the gun, forcing it to the left. Riggins also rushed the teen. "Let go…let go…let go!" The phrase poured out of Eric's mouth with a rapid, staccato beat. A shot rang out. There was a loud ping as the bullet ricocheted off a locker. Eric heard himself yelling, "No!…No!…No!"

Foster swore as he tried to twist away from the attack. "Damn it! Get back!"

Riggins remained silent except for an occasional growl. Eric grunted as one of Riggins's elbows slammed down on to his shoulder and he nearly lost his grip on the gun. Their weight forced Foster backwards and he backpedaled in an attempt to keep his balance. Eric wasn't sure what happened next. He focused only on maintaining his grip on Foster's gun hand even as he stumbled to his knees when Foster tripped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riggins falling towards him. A hot burning sensation plunged into his back, the pain shocking him into silence. The three of them crashed onto the hard concrete floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Eric's stunned mind couldn't comprehend what had happened. Pain like he had never known swept through him, radiating from somewhere near his left shoulder blade. The knife. Somehow, Foster had stabbed him with the knife. His vision began to tunnel and a dull roar fill his head.

"Oh shit! Coach!" Riggins cried as he rolled off Eric, sliding back on his knees.

Eric let out an agonized groan when Riggins movement caused a new spike in the level of pain. Blood covered the fullback's hands, and Eric almost threw up at the sight. Dimly, he heard the terror in Riggins's voice and wanted to reassure him that he was okay. He tried to speak but his mouth refused to form the words. He licked his lips and tried again but mind didn't seem to be connected to his mouth. Feeling Foster scramble out from beneath him , Eric tried to maintain his grip on the gun, but his left hand was limp and his right hand slipped off of Foster's wrist.

"Look what you made me do!" Foster screamed at Riggins. He still had the gun, and aimed it at the player.

"Me! You're the one who brought the knife and gun in here, you freak!"

Eric blinked his eyes, staving off the encroaching darkness, and tried to push himself up with his right arm. If he didn't stop Riggins, Foster would kill him.

Foster retreated to a corner, the gun still pointing at Riggins. "Just stay back!" The gun shook in the boy's hands. "I gotta think!"

Eric could not be sure, because everything was swimming in and out of focus, but Foster looked scared. Panting heavily, Eric attempted to shove himself up to a full sitting position, but was only partially successful. He groaned and felt like he might puke. His left arm was cradled against his belly as he struggled to keep it still. He could clearly feel the weight of something hanging from him. He started to reach over his left shoulder intending to remove whatever it was.

"No!" Riggins dropped to Eric's side and grabbed his hand before he could remove the offending object. "Don't touch it, Coach."

"What?" Confused, Eric stared at Riggins. "But it hurts."

* * *

"Oh my God! Matt!" Julie's eyes were huge, her face pale as she turned towards Matt. "That was a gunshot!" 

Matt could barely hear her over the thundering of his own heart. "I know. I know."

"We have to go out there!" Julie jumped up from the box she had been sitting on.

Matt lurched to his feet, grabbing onto her hand. "Shhh! No! We can't! Your dad said for us to stay here!" He tugged her away from the door. "Now, listen, I heard sirens a few second ago, so maybe…maybe that was the police shooting…or something."

Julie shook her head. "I have to go out there. I'll be so quiet, nobody will even hear me."

"I can't let you, Julie. You're dad would kill me."

Julie's eyes narrowed. "You can't stop me, Matt."

Before he could reply, she yanked her arm free, opened the door and slipped out. Matt shook his head. He had to go after her. At least he was familiar with the layout of the locker room. Maybe the girls' locker room was the same, but maybe not. He stole out behind her.

Julie hadn't gone far, just to the corner of the short hallway leading from the equipment room. He stood close behind her and peered around the corner. He couldn't see anything yet, but he heard Tim Riggin's voice and was puzzled. What was Riggins doing here? Who was he calling a freak? An acrid smell reached him and he recognized the scent of gunpowder. He'd smelled it on his dad's fatigues after he'd come back from maneuvers.

Shouts of, "Get back!" made Matt jump backwards, taking Julie with him. Julie turned to face him, her eyes wide with fear. Someone sounded really upset. He was wondering why he wasn't hearing Coach's voice when he heard a deep moan. Oh no. His mouth went dry. His eyes shot to Julie's, and his suspicions were confirmed when tears sprang to her eyes. It _was_ her dad they had heard.

He heard Riggins command Coach not to touch something, and he thought he might be sick when he barely caught Coach's strained reply.

Without warning, Julie bolted from his grasp.

"Dad!"

"No, Julie!" Matt scrambled after her and flew around the end lockers, skidding to a halt when he almost collided with Julie, who had stopped. She sank to her knees, hands covering her mouth. Matt looked over her head to see Riggins kneeling next to a semi-upright Coach who was attempting to grab something behind him.

That's when Coach turned slightly and Matt saw the knife sticking out of his shoulder. Matt's stomach rose suddenly and violently. He leaned to the side and vomited. _Oh God! _Shaking uncontrollably, Matt stood bent at the waist, hands braced on his thighs.

"Get out of here! Saracen! Get her out of here!" Riggins voice cut through the shock and Matt looked up. For the first time, he saw the kid he'd seen earlier in the hall. The boy was standing in the corner, his eyes huge and a gun was aimed right at Matt and Julie.

Instinctively, Matt raised his hands. "It…it's okay. We…we'll just leave, okay?"

"No! Don't move!" The teen appeared as scared as Matt felt.

"We…we're not moving."


	5. Chapter 5a

Smash pulled the buds from his ears and looked towards the bathroom door. He had thought he'd heard something. Something loud enough to cut through the music he had been listening to. Brow furrowed, Smash looked around then pulled out his cell phone. His mouth dropped open when the time showed that second period had started fifteen minutes ago! Damn! He had ducked into the locker room bathroom to take his vitamins. His pick-me ups. That was how he preferred to think of the steroids. After downing the pills, he had sat down on the floor, intending to only sit for a few minutes to listen to his favorite song. Crap! He must have dozed off.

Smash grabbed his book bag, wondering why he hadn't woken up when the second period gym class had arrived. The stillness of the lockeroom was odd, but he figured the class had already gone outside for P.E. Good thing he only had a study hall. He grinned; he could sleep in there as easily as here. He peeked out the of the bathroom door, hoping—praying, he wouldn't run into Coach Taylor. The last thing he needed was the coach getting on his case about being late to class. Suddenly, he became aware of talking. Yelling, really. It was Riggins doing the yelling. And somebody else. _What the hell? _

Smash stepped out of the bathroom, debating whether to take the direct route out of the locker room, and thereby probably avoiding running into Coach, or detouring to his left, towards the changing area of the locker-room, where the shouting was coming from. Curiosity got the better of him, he sidled up to the wall, intending to just poke his head around the corner, and duck back out the back hallway once he knew what was going on.

Smash took a deep breath and craned his head around the corner. He almost swore aloud at the sight that met his eyes. Something inside him warned him from making any noise, and after a quick glance around, he swiftly pulled his head back. Heart hammering, he stood, back to the wall and tried to comprehend what he had just seen. Coach was on the floor, a knife sticking out of his back. Smash closed his eyes, trying to make sense of that. Riggins had been standing next to him, and across the room, were Saracen and Julie Taylor. Saracen was all bug-eyed and holding his hands up and Julie was on her knees crying. What in the world was Julie Taylor doing in the boys' locker room? Shaking his head, he pushed that thought aside as unimportant. Why did Saracen have his hands up? And who was he looking at?

Carefully, Smash set his book bag down, cringing at the slight noise it made as a buckle clinked lightly on the floor. He took another quick peek, this time, focusing on the corner to his right. His eyes widened when he saw a kid huddled in the corner, a gun in his hand, alternately aiming at Saracen and Riggins. For a brief moment, Saracen's eyes had flickered towards Smash. Shaking his head slightly, Smash ducked back behind the wall. He had to do something. Where were the cops? Should he just wait? Coach didn't look like he could wait very much longer. Smash swallowed hard, thinking of how Coach's blue polo had appeared dark, almost purple, with blood.

If he could get Saracen or Riggins to distract the guy, maybe draw him out of the corner a little bit, Smash could get behind him and take him out with a hard tackle. He needed to get one of the guys attention and somehow let them know what to do. Think! Smash looked around. Ideally, Saracen should get the guy to come towards him, that way; the kid would be looking away, and hopefully, wouldn't see Smash coming until it was too late.

He listened as Saracen spoke to the kid. "Lo…look, Foster, let Julie go over to her dad, okay?"

"I don't care what she does as long as she stays in here."

Smash noted that Foster's voice was shaky even if he was acting tough. He heard Julie scramble over to her dad, her soft pleas for Coach to open his eyes caused Smash's own eyes to sting. He blinked hard.

"Uh, Foster, it…it looks like Coach is having some trouble breathing." Matt's voice sounded scared.

"What? How do you know?"

"Yeah, Foster. Maybe you better come over here and look."

Smash re-thought his plans. Maybe Riggins had seen him too and was trying to distract Foster

"Y'all get away from him first."

"No!" Julie screamed. "He's my dad! Look what you did to him! Why? Why?" Julie's voice trailed off.

"I didn't mean to…Riggins made me do it!"

"What?" Saracen and Julie questioned in unison.

"Uh uh, Foster! Don't pin this on me! You told me and Coach that you'd kill us, starting with _me._ Coach grabbed the gun and I grabbed the knife. If you would have just let go, it would be over now."

"Shut up! Just shut-up, y'all! I have to think!" There was a loud metallic sound as though Foster had kicked a locker. "Damn it! This isn't going at all like I wanted it to!"

Smash shook his head. It scared him to think what this Foster kid had originally planned.

Alan Foster wanted to hit something. Hard. He kicked a locker, feeling a small measure of satisfaction from the resounding crash and echo. How did things get so messed up? He had planned to enter the locker room at the end of first period and just start blasting away, intending to hit as many players as possible. They were all assholes as far as he was concerned, and when the coach, the biggest ass of them all, came to check out all the noise, he'd been anticipating taking him out too. In his mind, he'd pictured the fear and regret on all their faces, and had wanted to savor the power and control he would feel at that moment--before turning the gun on himself.

The reality had turned out much differently. First, he'd spent too much time smashing the trophy cases. It had been fun, but by the time he had finished, it was almost passing period and too many kids had seen him. The alarm had been raised. Then, Alan had literally run into Riggins when the guy had come barreling around the corner by the girls' locker room. For an instant, he'd thought about shooting him right then and there, but thought better of it. A gunshot then would have made things more difficult. Grabbing Riggins and using him to kick open the Coach's door had been kind of a thrill, but it was short-lived. His disappointment at finding the locker room empty had been intense. Nothing ever went right for him!

Foster hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to actually pull the trigger of the gun when it was pointed at someone. In his imagination, it was as easy as shooting someone in the video game. But, somehow, it wasn't. He couldn't make his finger squeeze the trigger. Instead of feeling powerful, he had felt…dirty and ashamed. That pissed him off. Even hitting Riggins with the gun hadn't helped any. It should have felt good. Hitting Coach should have felt even better, but instead, he'd felt regret. Taylor hadn't even yelled at him. That would have made it easier. But no, the guy had to act understanding. He hated having all those feelings and thought just shooting the two would let him reclaim his hatred for all things related to Panther football.

But now, everything was messed up. Foster looked around the locker room. Riggins stood with his arms crossed glaring at him. That kid who played quarterback, Matt Saracen, had his eyes glued to the coach's daughter, who was stroking her dad's face. Saracen's puke was creating an unbearable stench and when Alan's glance fell to Coach, the growing puddle of blood and, especially, the knife sticking out of his upper back, it made Alan feel like vomiting too. _Shit! Shit! **Shit! **_

Alan had no idea what to do next. Julie Taylor's soft crying made him even more angry. Angry with himself mostly. He had seen Julie around and had even been in a class with her. She was quiet for a girl. Once, she had caught him looking at her. Her hair was just the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; it was long, blonde and looked softer than silk. He must have been staring longer than he'd realized because she turned around. When she saw him, her expression had turned puzzled but she'd smiled shyly at him anyway. Now, she would hate his guts.

Eyes narrowed, Alan crossed over to Coach and Julie. Why should he care what she thought of him anyway? Foster's mind cleared and the confusion disappeared. It was time to end this.


	6. Chapter 5b

Tami looked over her shoulder for the umpteenth time, each time praying that when she turned, she would see Julie and Eric heading towards her and the safe zone set up in the parking lot. Police had established a perimeter surrounding the school, with extra men gathered near the outside entrance to the boys' locker room. Tami had given them all the information she had, including Foster's file.

When the word had come to evacuate the school, Tami had thought to grab an attendance sheet from the attendance office and now it was her job to mark kids off as they entered the zone. It had been five minutes since any students had left the school, and looking down at her list, Tami realized just about everyone was accounted for. About a dozen students were missing, including Julie and Matt. The secretary was using a cell phone to call the homes of the others to see if those students were home sick. So far, five of them were. A couple others had been at school but had just gone straight home instead of reporting to the safe zone. Tami rolled her eyes and checked them off as accounted for. That left Tim Riggins, Smash Williams, Matt Saracen, Alan Foster and Julie still listed as missing.

Tami handed the secretary the sheet. "Here, could you take this? I need to…to see what's going on."

"Sure, hon. I'll let the principal know who isn't accounted for and see that all the parents are notified."

"Thanks so much." Tami hugged the older woman, grateful for her help.

She wound her way through the crowd, heading for the police command center. Vaguely, Tami heard some of the teachers offering support and prayers as she passed. She nodded and tried to smile at them, but knew it probably looked more like a grimace. Her stomach churned and sudden action by the police near the locker room didn't help calm her.

A burst of police chatter from the radios reached her ears. Something about a gunshot. She froze, her hands covering her mouth in horror. _Dear Lord!_

"Get back!"

Smash nearly jumped out of his skin at Foster's sudden outburst. The guy had been pacing in the corner for the last few minutes after kicking the locker and twice Smash had feared Foster had seen him. He was tempted to go out the backdoor, but the faint sounds of police scanners concerned him. He was afraid if he exited that way, the sound would reach the others and alert Foster, setting the guy off.

Smash sneaked a peek around the corner. Foster was now standing over Coach and the look on his face terrified Smash.

Bowing his head, he took a deep breath. _Dear Jesus, please let this be the right decision. Please watch over Coach, Julie and the guys. Lend me the strength and courage to help them. Amen._

He took one more look to check everybody's position. Except for Coach, everyone else was standing on Foster's right. Foster had his back to Smash, his head was down, his focus on Coach.

As silently as possible, Smash crept around the corner of the lockers. When he was within fifteen feet of Foster, he began his sprint. Head up, he aimed for the middle of Foster's back, trying to pretend that this was just a tackling drill. The impact sent the kid hurtling forward with Smash's arms wrapped around his middle. The sharp report of a gunshot echoed in the room an instant before the gun flew out of Foster's hands, the skittering of the metal on the concrete floor barely registering in Smash's brain before he and Foster hit the floor in a bone-jarring crash. They slid and rolled another five feet before the lockers brought them to a sudden and painful stop.

Smash lay dazed for a moment. Cement was a lot harder than turf was his first thought. There was absolute silence for the space of three heartbeats before Riggins' boots raced past Smash's field of view. The slight scrape of metal reached Smash's ears and he lifted his head to see the fullback snatch the gun off the floor. Carefully, he sat up, rubbing his right shoulder. Foster was lying a few feet away, out cold.

And just like that, it was over.

Riggins stood before Smash, hand out-stretched. Smash took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

"Not too shabby, Williams!"

Smash nodded. "What do we do now, Riggs?" He turned to look at Coach. Julie was huddled over him while Matt dialed a cell phone. The blood pooling under Coach spurred Smash towards the showers to gather towels. Lots of towels. Arms loaded, he dropped next to his coach, wanting to help him, but not knowing how to begin. His first tentative try at applying pressure around the wound elicited such an agonized groan from Coach Taylor that Smash immediately pulled his hands back. He fished in his pocket for his phone and dialed 911.

"Hello? My name's Brian Williams. I'm in the Dillon high school locker room and we need an ambulance right away." Smash sighed in frustration when they transferred his call.

"Sergant Miller. Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Smash--Brian Williams and we need an ambulance in here right now!"

"Calm down, son, and tell me what is going on in there."

"A kid, Foster, stabbed Coach, but I tackled him and he's out cold and we took his gun, so could you please send help in here?" His words tumbled out at breakneck speed, and his hands couldn't seem to stop shaking.

"Mrs. Taylor? Hello? Hello?" Matt looked at the phone in puzzlement. "She was there for second but I lost her." He offered the phone back to Julie, looking as lost as Smash felt.

Matt knelt by Coach. "I think we should raise his feet up a little."

"Good idea, Saracen." Riggins ran to get some more towels, leaving them in a pile and placing them under Coach's lower legs and feet. "How's that?"

"Okay, I…I think."

"Daddy! Open your eyes for me, okay?" Julie was hunched down, her face directly in front of her father's.

Coach's eyes fluttered open and in a low, hoarse voice he managed, "Hey, sweetheart." His eyes started to drift closed again, only to fly open in panic. "What are you doing here?"

"It's okay, Dad. It's all over, and Smash just called an ambulance."

His expression confused, Coach tried to raise his head and look around. "Smash? Where the hell did you come from?"

Smash leaned down and confessed, "I fell asleep in the bathroom after first period. Sorry, Coach."

Coach seemed to accept that, only saying, "I'll have to remember to check it from now on." His voice slurred at the end of the sentence and his eyes closed.

Julie turned a tear-streaked face towards Smash. "I hope they hurry."

Smash nodded. "Me too."

Foster began stirring so Riggins patted him down, making sure there were no more weapons hidden on the kid. When he made a move as though to get up, Riggins put one dusty boot on his back and held him down. "Where do you think you're going, Foster?"

Suddenly, there was resounding boom as both the back door and the main locker room door crashed open. Smash and Matt jumped to their feet while Julie screamed. Riggins, still holding the gun, raised his arms in the air as a dozen officers, dressed in black with SWAT stenciled across their chests and backs swarmed the room.

"Nobody move!"

Smash froze.

"Drop the gun! NOW!"

Riggins eyes were wide as he leaned forward and released the weapon as gently as he could. An officer rushed in to grab it while another shoved Riggins against a locker.

"You two, against the lockers!" One of the men grabbed Matt and pushed him towards the lockers while another did the same to Smash. Stunned, they looked at each other.

"Move it!"

"Yes sir." Smash put his hands against the locker, his heart pounding as the police patted him down. He wondered if he looked as scared as Saracen looked.

They were quickly and thoroughly frisked and in the process, their wallets were removed. The apparent leader of the group checked their ID against some kind of list they had. After a tense minute, the man gave a signal to the officers. "The kids against the lockers are clear. Get their statements and then release them."

Smash let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding and turned around.

The leader turned towards Foster, whose eyes were wide as he stared up the barrel of a semi-automatic. With a disgusted shake of his head, the officer ordered, "Have the paramedics check him out and then arrest him. Don't let him out of your sight."

"Yes, sir."

The scene secured, he depressed his shoulder radio. "Send in two groups of paramedics."

Eric stirred, becoming aware of an intense pain in his shoulder and a barrage of strange noises—static, beeps and garbled chatter. People were talking and yelling. Lots of people from the sound of it. People who were wearing boots and stomping all around him. He became slightly concerned that they might walk on him. Couldn't they see that he was sleeping here? Where the hell was here? Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to find out.

White cinderblock walls. Eric knew those walls. He was in the locker room. Oh yeah, that kid with the gun, he thought vaguely. Did Foster shoot him? Is that why he hurt so bad? He blinked and tried to roll over. The pain intensified and he couldn't hold back the groan that escaped. He squeezed his eyes shut, forgetting all about Foster, the gun and the people in the room. His only thought centered on praying that the pain would go away. His breath came in ragged gasps and he couldn't seem to be able to slow it down.

"Take it easy, Coach. Don't try to move, okay?" A hand rested on Eric's side.

Eric didn't recognize the voice and opened his eyes. He didn't know the face either. "Who?" He wanted to ask the man who he was but he could only manage to utter the one word. Why was it so hard to breathe? He needed to sit up. Now. To that end, he tried to push himself up with his right arm but found he didn't have the strength necessary to achieve his goal.

"No…no. Sir, you have to lay still!"

More hands held him down and Eric began to panic as he struggled against them. "Can't breathe!" The hands wouldn't let him up, and Eric finally sank back , exhausted and breathless.

Someone placed an oxygen mask on his face, and someone else cut off his shirt. Eric shivered as the air hit his skin, groaning when the shiver caused a new level of pain. He liked the AC on low, but this was ridiculous. "Cold."

Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him. The voices swirled above and around him. Someone called for blankets, someone else swore, and Eric wanted to hit whoever was pressing on his back. It hurt, damn it! What were they trying to do? Kill him? He bit his lip and tried to squirm away from the pressure.

"Coach? I'm going to sneak your arm out from beneath you here, and get your blood pressure, okay? Just relax and let me do all the work."

Something was placed behind him and prevented him from rolling onto his back. After his arm was squeezed in the blood pressure cuff, Eric felt a tourniquet tighten in its place. A sharp sting followed.

"Coach? Can you hear me?"

Eric opened his eyes. "Yeah." He licked his lips. Damn, he was thirsty.

"You have quite a bruise on your face here. Did you lose consciousness?" The man turned Eric's head, his fingers lightly probing.

Eric squinted in the bright light. It seemed like the room was swarming with people. Who were all these guys? He strained to remember when he had gotten the bruise and seemed to recall Foster hitting him. He didn't think he'd been knocked out, but it was all getting pretty fuzzy. "No. Don't think so."

A penlight flashed in his eyes and Eric blinked and tried to turn away.

"Sorry. I just needed to check your pupils."

Eric was beyond caring. He couldn't seem to focus any more, losing his train of thought almost as soon as it began.

"Listen, Eric. We have to get you onto the backboard and then lift you onto the gurney. It's going to hurt, but we're going to try to go as easy as we can, okay."

Eric tried to answer him; to at least acknowledge him, but he couldn't. He dimly heard someone counting, but after the number three, it felt like someone ripped his shoulder off and everything faded.


	7. Chapter 6

Tami paced along the police line. The yellow tape flapped in the breeze; the irritating noise grating on her already frayed nerves. The SWAT team had stormed the building ten minutes ago. What was happening in there? The damn police radios seemed to squawk incessantly but Tami had no idea what, if any information, the squawks conveyed.

A little earlier, her phone had rung, and her heart had skipped a beat when she saw it was from Julie, but then her phone had chosen that moment to die. She could have cried, and almost threw the device across the parking lot. Before she had a chance to borrow someone else's phone, the SWAT team had made their move. She was afraid to call now. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the confusion with a ringing cell phone.

A flurry of movement around the rescue squads drew her attention. Paramedics unloaded two gurneys and rushed them inside the building.

Tami began to pray.

* * *

"…and then y'all came in," Matt finished, the fingers of his right hand nervously plucking at the padlock on a locker. He glanced at Julie. She stood wide-eyed, her gaze locked on her father. Matt swallowed hard and avoided looking at Coach. Julie's appeared so scared and alone. He wished there was something he could do to help her.

"Okay, son. You can go on now. If we need anything more, we'll contact you."

Matt nodded. "Yes, sir." He began to approach Julie, but hesitated when an officer stepped between her and himself.

"Step back, please." The officer gently attempted to steer Julie away from Coach, but Julie tried to shrug off the hands pulling her away.

"But he's my dad." Julie crossed her arms. "He needs me."

"Yes, I know. The paramedics will take real good care of him, okay?"

Julie looked at the officer and nodded, her lip trembling. It was more than Matt could take. "Uh, uh, Julie, why don't we go try to find your mom? If it's okay for us to go?" The last part was directed towards the officer.

Nodding his consent, the officer ushered them out through the back door towards the parking lot, on the way, they passed Riggins being checked out by a paramedic and Foster getting the same treatment. Smash was still giving his statement, his voice rising as he got the part where he had tackled Foster. If Coach's condition hadn't been so grim, Matt would have smiled at the flamboyant way Smash had of describing the hit he had put on Foster.

Matt squinted as he stepped out into the bright sunshine. It was hard to believe that it was still only mid-morning. It seemed like hours had passed since the whole ordeal had begun.

He stopped in disbelief when he saw the zoo that was the Dillon High School parking lot. Police cars, rescue squads, fire trucks and farther back, news vans covered the asphalt. People milled around behind the vehicles and when the crowd caught sight of Matt and Julie, a cheer went up.

"Julie!"

Matt scanned the crowd and spied Mrs. Taylor ducking under the police tape before sprinting towards them. "There's your mom!"

Julie rushed towards her mother, the pair flinging their arms around each other in a teary embrace. "Mom…oh Mom. Dad…dad's…"

"Shhh…it's okay, baby, it's okay." Mrs. Taylor stroked Julie's hair back, and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "It's all over."

"No, Mom, it's not okay," Julie sobbed.

Matt saw Mrs. Taylor's hands pause, her eyes widening in fear as they searched her daughter's face. "What, honey?"

He looked down, not wanting Mrs. Taylor to see the horror on his face as the image of Coach flashed through his mind. He knew the sight would be branded in his brain forever. Matt felt bile rise up, and swallowed convulsively then shoved his shaking hands into his pocket.

"Mom, that kid stabbed Dad. The knife's still _in_ him!"

Tami felt her knees begin to buckle, but somehow managed to keep herself upright. The knife was still in Eric? Julie's arms tightened around her and Tami collected her thoughts. "Where? Where's he stabbed, hon?"

Julie stepped back and pointed over her left shoulder. "In the upper back." She swiped at her eyes. "He was talking a little bit." Her voice rose with hope as she told her mother that tiny piece of information.

Tami pulled Julie in for another hug. "I'm sure that's a good sign." She had no idea if it was or not, but Julie needed to hear that. She needed Tami to tell her something positive after the ordeal.

What Tami needed was to see Eric, but she didn't want to leave Julie. Matt Saracen was still standing awkwardly behind Julie and her heart went out to him. Nobody was there to offer comfort to the poor boy. "Are you okay, Matt?"

Matt nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I…uh…Julie and me were in the closet most of the time."

"Can you do me a favor, Matt? Can you stay with Julie? Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, I can do that, Mrs. Taylor." Matt paused and looked down. "Could I, um, use Julie's cell phone to call my grandma? She might have heard something and …"

"Of course!" Tami should have suggested that herself. She was the guidance counselor and this boy had just been through a horrible ordeal. "I'm sorry, I should have offered already."

"Oh, no…no, that's okay," Matt stammered.

Julie was already pulling the phone out. "Here, Matt."

Tami gave Julie one last hug. "Sweetheart, I have to go in there and see your dad."

"I don't know if they'll let you in, Mom." Julie looked towards the door with doubt on her face.

Smash Williams was just exiting. His head was down and his hands were crammed into his pockets. Tami was torn. Here was another kid in need of comforting.

"Brian!"

Smash's head came up and Tami turned to see Mrs. Williams rushing towards Smash. Relief flooded through her. Mrs. Williams was just the person Smash needed at that moment.

Tami stepped aside as Smash ran past them and up to his mother. "Momma."

"Oh, Lord, boy, I have been praying and praying. What happened in there, Brian?"

Smash's head burrowed against his mother's shoulder and Tami could see him shaking. She felt her eyes well with fresh tears.

"Coach is hurt bad, Momma."

Mrs. Williams raised her eyes and met Tami's gaze. She must have realized the conflict Tami was feeling because she waved Julie and Matt over towards her. "Come here, kids. Y'all must be hungry and thirsty." She nodded to Tami. "I'll take care of them. You go on."

* * *

Tami attempted to give her a grateful smile, but the tears fell instead as she turned towards the school. The officer at the door tried to refuse her admittance, but she dared him to stop her and someone behind him told him it was okay. Tami flew past the man without a second glance. She tore down the hallway, following the noise into the locker room. 

Tim Riggins sat on a bench while a paramedic shone a light in his eyes. He had a nasty cut on his cheek and she could see that one eye was swollen. Tami stopped, guilt flooding her. She should have _made_ him stay in the office. What in the world made him rush down here during all that chaos? Behind Tim, another boy lay on the floor, a cervical collar around his neck. Several police officers hovered over the young man, their hands on their guns.

The room was a hubbub of activity. Police milled around, some men were taking photographs, but most of the activity centered around someone lying on the floor. Bloody towels were carelessly tossed aside and medical supply wrappers lay strewn everywhere.

Her heart pounding, Tami approached, catching a glimpse of Eric. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, his eyes were closed and an ugly purple bruise stretched across his left cheek to his temple. A cut still oozed blood. More blood stained his throat. He looked terrible. She raised her hands and covered her mouth. A whimper escaped. _Oh God! _

A dark-haired paramedic turned around. "Are you his wife?"

Tami nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from the Eric's still form.

"I need to ask you a few questions, okay? Does your husband have any allergies to medications?"

Shaking her head, she made her way around the debris and knelt by his head. Eric lay strapped onto a long board, half-turned on his right side, and she felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her when she saw the reason behind his odd positioning. She closed her eyes for second. It wouldn't do Eric any good if she fainted on top of him. She opened her eyes, took a slow deep breath, and focused on her husband's pale face. Rolled up towels were tucked under the right side of his head, keeping his neck level. An I.V. protruded from his left arm.

"How about any pre-existing medical conditions? Heart problems? Anything?"

"No, he's always been in perfect health." Tentatively, she reached down and stroked his hair off his forehead. Eric's eyelids fluttered open. Encouraged, she spoke to him. "Hey, sugar."

Eric's gaze was glassy and unfocused. "Babe." His brow furrowed. "Julie?"

Tami smiled, "Julie's fine. She's with Matt Saracen." Someone touched her arm.

"Ma'am? We have to move him onto the gurney now."

Tami nodded and then kissed Eric's forehead. "I love you and I'll see you in just a little while."

"Too," he whispered before his eyes drifted closed.

Unmindful of the tears streaming down her face, Tami stood back and watched as the rescue personnel lifted the orange backboard onto the gurney. She covered her mouth and bit back a sob when Eric's eyes flew open at the sudden movement and he uttered a strangled moan. Within seconds, the paramedics had everything ready and whisked the gurney out the backdoor with Tami close behind.

The ambulance had been brought close to the door, and Tami stood by as the crew lifted the gurney in the back of the vehicle. She didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that Eric remained utterly silent through the ordeal.

* * *

Tami hurried out to the parking lot, casting glances left and right in search of her daughter. She spotted a cluster of reporters and photographers gathered around what looked like a group of kids. Flowing blonde hair caught her eye and she hurried in that direction. No, they wouldn't do that, she thought. How could they question these kids who had just been through such a harrowing ordeal? Dashing any lingering tears off her cheeks, she shouldered her way through the throng. "Excuse me." 

Her emotions high, Tami worked up a tirade laced with a string of profanity that would have shamed a sailor, but when she broke through the line of reporters, she found Mrs. Williams had beat her to it. Minus the profanity.

"Y'all get back and just let these kids be. Have you no shame?" Mrs. Williams eyed the photographers. "As if these children haven't been through enough, y'all come out here and stick cameras in their faces." She shook her head in disgust and Tami saw more than one photographer duck his head in embarrassment.

"Thank you, Mrs. Williams." Tami found herself enveloped in a warm hug. Tears sprang to her eyes again. She wanted to stay strong for Julie's sake, but she allowed herself the comfort of that hug. For just a moment, she could let down her guard and just be the worried wife.

"How is Coach, hon?"

Tami shook her head, a lump stuck in her throat. She pulled back and wiped at her eyes with her fingers. "I…I don't really know. Nobody told me anything, but I only had a minute with him."

Smash Williams stood behind his mother, his eyes wide. Several reporters milled in the background and it finally dawned on Tami that they were shouting questions at the kids and Smash in particular.

"Smash! What did it feel like to tackle the kid?"

"Were you scared?"

"What's it feel like to be a hero, Smash?"

"How bad is Coach Taylor hurt? Is it true the knife was still embedded him?"

Tami felt as if someone had stabbed _her_. They were talking about her husband's injury as if it were some kind of exciting, freaky event!

Smash's expression probably matched her own, and the star player finally turned to the reporters. "Look, y'all. I don't know what it felt like to tackle Foster. It happened too fast. And yeah, I was scared. Wouldn't you be? I ain't no hero. I got lucky 'cause the kid had his back to me. Riggins is as much a hero as I am. He and Coach tried to get the weapons away. That's when Coach was injured." His voice dropped. "And Coach is hurt bad, and I think we should all be prayin' for him instead of standing around here talking like we're at a church social."

Smash's mother nodded and took her son's hand. Tami held the other one. Julie clung to Tami's hand, and Matt completed the circle. They bowed their heads as Smash began.

"Dear Lord, we ask that you see fit to heal Coach. He is a good man and his family needs him. We need him. Please bless us all and give us the strength to help Coach and his family get through this trying time. In your name, we ask this. Amen."

"Amen."

Tami looked at Smash. He stood awkwardly, his eyes wet. Tami swept him up in an embrace. "Thank you so much."

"There's no need to thank me, Mrs. Taylor. I just wish it hadn't happened at all."

Tami nodded. "Me too."

Mrs. Williams pulled a tissue out of her purse and handed it to Tami. Whispering her thanks, Tami turned towards Julie. "We have to go to the hospital, sweetheart."

Julie nodded and threw a scared look towards Matt Saracen. "Can Matt come?"

Tami nodded. "Sure." Maybe it would help if Julie had someone her own age there to sit with. Plus, Matt looked a little lost too. She hated to abandon him.

She turned back to Mrs. Williams. "Thank you so much. I hope Smash is okay too. He's a good kid."

Mrs. Williams threw a proud look towards her son. "He is a good kid."


	8. Chapter 7

Bright light burned through his closed lids. Eric squinted and attempted to turn away, but a firm pressure on his forehead prevented the movement. Someone tried to pry open his right eyelid and despite Eric's best efforts, succeeded. Giving up, Eric allowed whomever it was to flash the light in his eyes. Afterwards, he blinked and tried to figure out what was going on. He had lost all sense of time and for all he knew, it could have been minutes or days since he saw Tami in the locker room. At least, he thought she had been there for a minute.

Eric found himself lying on his right side and he could still feel the weight of the knife embedded in his back. He almost wished he would lapse into unconsciousness again. He could sense people moving around behind him and he tensed, afraid that someone would bump the knife. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead and his whole body trembled.

About a half-dozen people filled the small cubicle, from what he could see. Their voices called out numbers that meant nothing to him, but must have been important from the tone of voice they used. A large light with a circular reflector hovered over him and he wished someone would turn it off. A middle aged woman dressed in a white lab coat gripped Eric's right hand tightly, while a similarly dressed, younger woman attempted to draw blood from his wrist.

Another woman, dressed in blue scrubs leaned into Eric's field of vision and loudly asked, "Eric? Can you hear me?"

Eric wondered why the woman was shouting at him. As far as he knew, his ears worked just fine. Still, when he attempted to answer her, he couldn't. Every time he tried to take a breath to say something, he had to take another breath right away. There didn't seem to be enough air left over for talking. He nodded instead.

"Good. I'm Dr. Miller, the emergency room physician. The bad news is, you have a knife in your upper back."

Again, Eric nodded, wondering what had clued her in. Was it the big handle sticking out or was it something else? Feeling guilty, he pushed the sarcastic thoughts aside and just concentrated on breathing. He hurt too bad to think about anything else anyway.

"The good news is, that just as soon as we get a couple of x-rays, we're going to take you to right up to surgery to get that out, okay? I know you're having trouble breathing, but just hang in there."

"Wife?" Eric gasped the word, growing more short of breath by the second.

The doctor looked towards the open door, then back to Eric. "She's just finishing up some paperwork. I'll send her in just as soon as x-ray is done, okay?"

With that, Eric heard the hum of the portable x-ray machine. When the techs lifted him to slide the film beneath him his right side, it was all he could do to keep from screaming. One of the techs raised the side of the gurney and gently pulled Eric's left arm until it rested on the right side bedrail.

"Can you hold on to this for a second, sir?" the tech asked "That way we can get a good view."

Hanging on for all he was worth, Eric panted, and broke out in a cold sweat. His vision began to dim and his hands slipped off the rail. It was just too hard to breathe. He couldn't get enough air in and the harder he tried, the more difficult it became. As if from far away, he heard voices begin shouting.

"Bring the films to surgery! We have to go now!"

Eric focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. The gurney rolled slightly and he heard the click as the rail behind him snapped into place.

"Grab the portable O2 and crank it to fifteen liters. Bring the Ambu bag too."

"Is everything disconnected?"

Someone set a blue plastic balloon shaped device on the gurney in front of his face. A long white plastic hose hung off one end; the other end was fitted with a mask

Breathe in; breathe out. His body shook with the effort. It was so damn hard. Eric could feel his heart racing.

"I've got the I.V. pump. Let's go."

Eric sensed a flurry of activity around him then grunted as the gurney lurched as it began to move quickly. It swung around a corner, and Eric weakly clawed at the rail, hanging on for all he was worth and sure the cart was going to tip over. The voices receded and became dreamlike.

"He's crashing!"

* * *

Mrs. Taylor signed her name across the last form, but from the way she kept darting looks over her shoulder, Matt figured she was barely aware of what she was signing. Julie had pulled her hands into her sleeves and crossed her arms. She hardly seemed to be aware of him, her eyes staring blankly at the floor. He wasn't sure why she had asked him to come, but he was glad she had. Matt could still feel his heart hammering; the adrenaline still thrummed through his body, making it hard for him to focus or stand still. He felt like he should be doing something. Anything. If his being here some how helped Julie, then he was glad she had asked him to come. Matt looked around, his eyes widening as he observed the controlled chaos of the emergency department. The curtain in front of Coach's room had been pulled, but he could still hear a lot of what the medical staff was saying and it didn't sound good.

"Yo, Saracen."

Matt turned towards the voice to find Smash entering the ER, several other players trailed in after him.

"Hey, Smash." Matt shoved his hands in his pocket.

Smash nodded to Mrs. Taylor and Julie then tugged Matt aside. The other players surrounded him. In a low voice, Smash asked, "What's going on with Coach? Have they said anything?"

Matt looked down and shook his head. "No…not yet. Mrs…Mrs. Taylor hasn't even been able to go in and see him."

Mrs. Taylor approached the small group. "Hey, y'all." With a small smile, she reached out and gave Smash's shoulder a squeeze, and circled her other hand on Matt's back in a gesture of comfort. Matt felt his admiration for Julie's mom grow. Even in the face of her distress, she managed to be warm and giving.

A sudden flurry of activity behind them caught their attention. The curtain flew back. Coach was lying on the stretcher, like he had been before but his hands were holding onto the rails. His shirt was gone and only a sheet covered his torso. It draped loosely over the knife, the cloth fluttering in time to Coach's rapid breathing. One of the nurses stepped on a peddle at the base of the cart and with a thunk, the cart lurched towards them.

Coach's eyes were closed but Matt could see how tightly his hands were gripping the top rail. The staff swung the cart around the corner of the door and Coach's eyes opened briefly before his hands fell to the bed, completely limp.

Matt looked at Mrs. Taylor, and the fear he saw on her face scared him.

"Mrs. Taylor?"

Matt recognized the doctor who had spoken briefly to Mrs. Taylor earlier. Julie's mom turned to her.

"What's happening?"

"Your husband is very critical right now. He's on his way to surgery where they will remove the knife and insert a chest tube to allow his lung to re-inflate. Right now, time is of the essence."

Mrs. Taylor nodded, a dazed expression on her face. Julie looked anxiously between her mother and the doctor.

"Will he be all right?" Julie's voice trembled. Matt moved closer to her, wanting to lend support in any way he could but had no idea what he could do to help. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Smash's mom enter the other end of the hallway. Her presence was reassuring.

The doctor regarded Julie for a long moment. "I believe he will be if they can get the knife out quickly enough. The OR just called and they are all ready for him."

Mrs. Taylor thanked her, but then stood, her expression lost.

Matt decided to speak up. "Is there somewhere we can go to wait?"

The doctor nodded. "Take a right down that hallway and follow it down to the surgical waiting area. The surgeon will come out after the surgery is finished."

"Come on, Mrs. Taylor." Matt gently guided her by her elbow. He looked over his shoulder and made a motion to the others that they should follow. Smash's mom put her arm around Julie's shoulders and gave her a squeeze before ushering the dazed girl along behind Matt and Mrs. Taylor. The players brought up the rear as the little group made their way to the waiting room.

* * *

"Thank you." Tami accepted the coffee that Matt handed her. She held it for several minutes, then set it down untouched on a side table and glanced at the clock. It had been an hour since they had wheeled Eric into surgery. It was the longest hour of her life.

She perched on the edge of the easy chair; her hands clasped loosely in her lap. Absently, Tami twisted her wedding rings back and forth. What was taking so damn long? She could only pray that no news was good news.

The surgical waiting room gradually filled with football players, cheerleaders, school administration and many more kids whom Tami recognized from the high school. She was touched that so many had come to show their concern and support. Julie sat a few seats away, a half dozen students stood beside her, quietly talking.

Tim Riggins entered the waiting area and immediately, a bunch of players surrounded him asking how he was. The fullback's answers were too quiet for Tami to hear, but she winced at the nasty bruise across his left cheekbone. He looked over and met her gaze. Slowly, he walked towards her, his face crumbling. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Taylor."

Tami stood and met him half way, enveloping him in a hug. She felt his shoulders shaking as she soothed him. His head burrowed against her neck. "What do you have to be sorry for, Tim?"

The boy shook his head. "I did it. I stabbed Coach."

Tami stilled, and then leaned back to look into Tim's grief ravaged face. "What do you mean?"

"Foster said he was going to shoot me first. Coach looked at me, and I just knew what he was going to do. He grabbed Foster's gun hand and I went for the one with the knife."

Tim stopped as a sob escaped him and Tami pulled him over to a nearby chair and gently pushed down on his shoulder until he sat. She lowered herself into the chair next to him, hardly aware of the rest of the people in the room who circled the two.

"It all happened so fast. Foster fell backwards and then I tripped over Coach's feet. Somehow, as we fought for the knife, it stabbed into Coach." Tim shuddered and looked at his hands as though still seeing the blood staining them. "I should have been able to get the knife away, but I couldn't. Coach should have just let Foster shoot me."

Tami's heart broke for the young man. "Tim, it's not your fault. The only one at fault here is Foster. Eric will be the first one to tell you that as soon as he's able."

Tim's head was bowed, his hair covering his face, but his foot bounced up and down and his hand came up to swipe at his eyes. "If I had stayed with you, Coach would be okay."

Tami shook her head and reached under to lift Tim's chin so she could see his face. "I do wish you had stayed, but only for your own safety. We don't know what might have happened if you hadn't been there. Maybe Foster would have grabbed someone else and who knows what might have happened?"

Tim looked unconvinced and his eyes darted away.

"Why did you go, Tim? What made you rush towards the locker rooms?" Tami followed Tim's gaze and saw that it had landed on Lyla Garrity. The pretty brunette's eyes welled as she stared back at Tim.

Tami remembered Lyla's confession and suddenly it all made sense. If Tami remembered correctly, the cheerleaders had first period gym at the same time as the players. Tim would have known she would be in Foster's vicinity.

A large double door opened into the surgical waiting area and Tami sat up straight as a man in surgical garb stood looking about the group, searching for someone. "Mrs. Taylor?"

Tami looked quickly to Julie, their eyes meeting and she was sure that her own eyes mirrored the fear that she saw in her daughter's. Her heart hammering, Tami slowly approached the doctor. "Yes?"


	9. Chapter 8

The doctor's blue eyes zeroed in on Tami. "Hello. I'm Doctor Stone." The man was medium height, his dark hair short and neat despite the surgical cap he clutched in his left hand.

Tami briefly shook his outstretched right hand. "I'm Tami Taylor," she reached behind her and tugged on Julie's hand, pulling her forward, "and this is my daughter, Julie."

The surgeon nodded at Julie as he glanced around at the crowded waiting room. "Why don't you and your daughter come back here with me so we can discuss your husband's condition?" The doctor motioned towards the hallway he had just exited.

"Okay." Tami tucked a lock of hair behind her ear then draped her other arm around Julie's waist as they followed the doctor into the empty hallway. A security door swung shut behind them and the sudden quiet was unnerving. Taking a deep breath, Tami braced for whatever news this man would deliver. She was terrified but he exuded a quiet confidence that helped to calm her.

Dr. Stone turned and crossed his arms. "Sorry, I just didn't want to discuss your husband's condition in front of the whole town."

Tami nodded, understanding his reasoning, but impatient to find out about Eric's condition. "How is he?"

"First, I want to reassure you that Eric made it through surgery, and barring any complications, should make a complete recovery."

"Oh, thank God!" Tami's knees almost buckled. Turning, she threw her arms around Julie. Stepping back, Tami gently swiped at the tears on her daughter's cheeks, and laughed, feeling suddenly giddy. Julie returned her grin, then they both turned back to the doctor.

The surgeon smiled, but it wasn't a completely relaxed smile. "Things are looking good now, but it was a very close call. By the time he got back to us, your husband was in respiratory failure. Another minute more, and his heart would have failed as well."

Tami gasped and her giddiness evaporated. She covered her mouth at the realization of how close she had come to becoming a widow. Her eyes welled. Dropping her hand slightly, she asked, "But he's okay now?"

Dr. Stone nodded and cocked his head to the side. "He's stable. We had to insert two chest tubes. One is draining blood from the lower part of his lung—actually the space between his lung and chest wall. The other is at the top of his lung allowing air to escape when he breathes." The doctor gestured to his own left ribcage, then used his hands to try to demonstrate how Eric's lung had shrunk.

"The accumulating blood and air in that space had pretty much collapsed that lung, and in fact, was putting pressure on his heart as well. That's why he was having so much trouble breathing. Every breath he took allowed air to leak from his lung into that space and meanwhile, blood was also filling the space."

Tami shook her head. "What's a chest tube? What do you mean you had to _insert_ them?"

The doctor sighed. "'Chest tubes aren't pleasant, but they are effective. I made a small incision between the ribs and stick a, well… it's actually a hose in there. The hose is then attached to a box that will stay at your husband's side until the lung has healed enough that it is no longer leaking air or blood. The box collects the drained blood and regulates the pressure to prevent air from accumulating again."

Tami winced at the description. Her thumb rested under her chin, two fingers tapping lightly against her upper lip as she digested the information. "How long will he need that?"

Shrugging, Doctor Stone rubbed the back of his neck. "Four or five days probably. Our number one concern right now is infection."

Tami's eyes widened. She hadn't thought beyond praying that Eric survived the surgery. Complications hadn't even entered her mind.

"Knife wounds tend to be dirty and the knife used was large and went deep, meaning it could possibly have driven bacteria far into the wound. I've started a broad spectrum antibiotic and we'll keep a close eye out for any signs of infection." The doctor smiled. "I know it sounds bad, and it was, but I really do expect your husband will make a full recovery. He's fairly young and in excellent health. I don't think there will be any nerve damage either, which is always a concern. If the knife had hit closer to the shoulder joint, it could have severed some important nerves, so he got lucky."

Tami looked at him incredulously. "Are you kidding?"

The doctor chuckled. "Sorry, I don't mean he's lucky, just that…well, it could have turned out a whole lot worse. He also sustained a pretty bad laceration on his neck that came pretty damn close to slicing through his jugular vein." He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "I'd say he was very fortunate, actually."

Tami closed her eyes, nodding. She swallowed hard and thought of the other possible outcome. Blinking back tears, she held out her hand and smiled. "Thank you so much, Dr. Stone."

"You're very welcome, Mrs. Taylor. It'll still be quite awhile before your husband goes to his room in ICU. He'll be in recovery for at least an hour, so now is the time to get something to eat." Dr. Stone glanced at his watch. "The cafeteria should be opening for dinner shortly."

Tami nodded, food the last thing on her mind, but Julie probably should eat something. None of them had eaten since this morning before heading off to school. God, that seemed like ages ago.

Dr. Stone turned to leave, but paused, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "I expect to get some good seats in the championship game."

Laughing, Tami nodded. "If the Panthers make the championship game, I will personally see to it that you get great seats!"

"Mom, I going to search for a bathroom. I'll meet you back in the waiting room."

"Sure, sugar," Tami agreed. She watched her daughter follow a sign pointing to the ladies room and thought about following her. With all the crying she'd been doing, she knew she must look a mess, but the low murmur of anxious voices on the other side of the swinging doors reminded her that others were also worried and waiting to hear about Eric's condition.

Tami pushed through the doors. A hush fell over the crowd as all eyes turned towards her. She smiled. "I've got good news, y'all. Eric came through surgery, and the doctor says he should make a full recovery."

The tears started flowing yet again when she saw Smash's head drop in relief and Matt Saracen's face split into a huge grin. Buddy Garrity even stopped and lifted his eyes skyward. She was too far away to hear him, but she was able to read his lips as he said, "Thank God." Tami was touched. The waiting room buzzed with excitement and relief.

Matt asked, "When can we see Coach?"

"Is he awake?" Someone shouted from the back of the room.

Buddy Garrity stepped forward. "Will Eric be able to continue coaching this year?"

Questions began flying at her faster than she could answer them and Tami looked around in confusion, not sure which question to answer first. Corinna Williams came to her rescue. Shaking her head, she put an arm around Tami's shoulders and faced the crowd. "Y'all just calm down and quit shooting questions at Mrs. Taylor. It's been a long day for all of us, and especially for her and Julie."

Tami took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. "Thank you, Corinna." She clasped her hands in front of her face, lightly touching the back of her thumbs against her mouth. Her gaze swept the room and she lowered her hands slightly. "I am so touched by all of y'alls concern. I wish I had the answers you want today. All I know is that Eric made it through surgery." She stopped as her voice broke. Embarrassed, she closed her eyes briefly. "The doctor said there are still some concerns, mainly about infection, so I don't know when he'll be back coaching." She smiled through her tears. "Knowing Eric, though, he'll be calling plays from his hospital bed."

The crowd chuckled and Tami spotted Mac towards the back of the room nodding his head in agreement, a smile on his face. Mrs. Williams gave her a squeeze and added, "I think we need to all go home and let Mrs. Taylor and Julie relax."

Grateful, Tami turned to hug her and whispered, "Thank you so much."

Soon, the gathering began to dwindle. Before leaving, many people offered any type of help that Tami might need. The outpouring of support and prayer was incredible and she felt her eyes begin to sting again. She wondered just how many tears one person could produce in a day and she was pretty certain she was near the limit.

Hours later, Tami and Julie were finally allowed into Eric's ICU room to see him. He still sported an oxygen mask and several IV pumps. Tami shuddered at the rubber tubes that snaked from beneath the covers into two boxes that bubbled quietly near the end of the bed. Those must be the chest tubes.

Eric's eyes remained closed, but he seemed to be breathing easily, and for that, Tami was grateful. She stepped up to the bed with Julie close behind her. Tami glanced back; her daughter's eyes were huge, but she seemed to be dealing okay, all things considering.

A petite blonde nurse approached Tami. "Hi. My name's Gail and I'm going to be your husband's nurse tonight."

Tami nodded, not trusting her voice for a moment.

Gail smiled sympathetically and lightly touched Tami's arm. "Don't worry, Mrs. Taylor. I'll take good care of him. He's pretty heavily medicated right now, so I doubt he'll wake up for awhile, but don't hesitate to talk to him or touch him. You won't hurt anything."

"Thanks, Gail. And please, call me Tami."

"Sure, and just let us know if you need anything. There's coffee and coke in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourselves, okay?" Gail turned to Eric, made a few adjustments to the IV tubing, and straightened the oxygen mask before leaving the room.

Julie circled the bed, standing opposite Tami. Tentatively she reached out, finding her father's hand tangled in the sheets and held it. "Hey, Dad?"

There was no response, but Tami hadn't really expected one after what the nurse had said about him being medicated. Still, it scared her. She reached for his other hand, careful not to dislodge the IV inserted in the back of it. "Hey, sugar. You just sleep and get better, you hear?"

She stroked his cheek with her other hand, avoiding the small cut and the bruises. His skin was rough with five o'clock shadow and stood out in stark contrast against his very pale complexion. Tami looked at the array of bags hanging from the IV poles. A couple of the bags were large, one was small, and one was definitely blood.

Julie released her dad's hand and began to inspect the bags herself, then moved over to the monitor. After several moments of studying the numbers, she said, "Hey Mom, that's Dad's blood pressure." She pointed to a set of numbers. "Ninety-eight over fifty-four." She was quiet for a second. "I think that's kind of low. But his heart rate is one hundred and six, so that's okay… I'm pretty sure."

Tami smiled gently. Her daughter always did take comfort in facts. "How do you know so much about that?"

Julie shrugged. "I watch Trauma: Life in the ER" a lot. It's interesting." She bent down to get a closer looks at the boxes near the foot of the bed. Rubber hoses fed into them and one of the hoses contained red fluid that moved slightly back and forth with every breath Eric took. Julie held the hose in her hand. "This is the blood the doctor said they were draining out of dad's lungs." She paused, her eyes opening wide. "Wow. I can feel Dad breathing. Weird." She carefully set the tube back down.

"Careful, hon. Maybe you shouldn't touch those things." Tami watched; her nervousness at Julie's casual handling of the tubes turning to amusement as Julie's further explorations brought her to another hose hanging down. It drained into a bag. Julie angled the bag up to get a better look at it, her expression puzzled. Suddenly, it dawned on her what the yellow fluid in that bag was, and she quickly dropped it and wiped her hand on her jeans.

"Uh, I think you're right, Mom." She stood up and crossed to sink where she thoroughly washed her hands.

Shaking her head, Tami turned back to Eric. Nothing had changed. She sighed and pulled a chair close to the bed, taking her husband's hand in her own.

Julie sank onto a rocking chair and turned on the television. She flipped through the channels, skipping the ones that covered the incident and finally settling on a rerun of "The Simpsons." Within ten minutes, she was sound asleep.

Tami awoke with a start. Blinking in confusion, it took a moment for her to get her bearings and realize where she was and that she had fallen asleep too. Something had awakened her. Julie still snoozed in the rocking chair, but Eric's hand no longer rested in Tami's hand.

Standing, she looked at her husband's face. He was awake…sort of. His eyes were glazed and unfocused but at least they were open. Eric reached towards the mask on his face and began to pull it off.

"No, hon, you have to leave that on." Tami leaned over the bed and gently restrained Eric's right hand.

At the sound of her voice, his eyes searched until they focused on hers. He licked his lips. "I'm thirsty." His voice was a hoarse whisper and Tami had to strain to hear him through the mask.

Tami smiled and released his hand. She looked around but didn't spot a water pitcher anywhere. "Just hold on, babe. I'll get your nurse, okay." Tami found the call light and pressed it. Eric's eyes closed but his lids fluttered when Tami stroked his hair off his forehead.

In a few moments, Gail breezed into the room. "Y'all need something?"

Tami nodded. "He woke up and he's thirsty."

Gail approached the bed. "Hey, Eric. How are you feeling?" The nurse pressed a button to raise the head of the bed higher.

Eric's eyes opened to slits. "Uh… not…mmmm..." He shifted slightly, his voice trailing off.

Tami rubbed his arm; concerned at Eric's response. She glanced at the nurse and was relieved to see Gail smile.

"Do you think you can try some ice chips?" Gail's eyes skimmed her patient and then took in the monitor numbers before returning to Eric's face.

"Y…yeah."

Gail patted Eric's shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Fifteen minutes later, Eric swallowed his fourth teaspoon of ice chips. The ice seemed to have woken him up a bit. "How's Julie?"

Tami set the Styrofoam cup down on the bedside table and put the oxygen mask back down over Eric's face. "She's fine, hon. She's sleeping right over there in the chair."

Eric raised his head and struggled to see his daughter. "She's tired. Why don't y'all go on home and get some sleep?"

Tami nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess we should."

"Don't worry 'bout me, hon. I'm jus…just gonna sleep anyway." Eric's eyes blinked as he fought to keep them open.

Tami gently shook Julie's shoulder. "Sweetheart, wake up."

Julie rubbed her eyes sleepily and looked around, stretching. "How's Dad?"

"I'm okay."

Julie whirled around to the bed. "Dad!" Her face broke into a huge grin at the sight of her father awake and smiling at her. She rushed the bed, but stopped before she bumped it too hard. Bending, she wrapped an arm around lightly around his neck.

Eric raised his right hand and tried to stroke it down his daughter's back, but his movement was slow and clumsy and after a few attempts, he let his hand fall back to the bed. "You doin' okay, hon?"

Tami saw Julie's head move as she nodded in response to her dad's question. Her face remained buried in Eric's neck for a long moment. Finally, she straightened. "I'm okay, Dad."

"Good. Take your mom home and make sure she gets some sleep. She looks tired." Eric smiled sleepily. It was obvious from the way he kept blinking that he was rapidly losing his battle to stay awake.

"I'm not the only one who looks tired." Tami moved beside the bed and leaned forward, lifting the oxygen mask with one hand. She dropped a gentle kiss on Eric's lips. "I love you and I'll be here first thing in the morning."


	10. Chapter 9

Eric groaned softly and shifted in the bed. He had just survived the longest, most miserable night of his life. Every few minutes, someone came in to check something, his IV, chest tubes, vitals or Foley catheter. The last item was especially bothersome and Eric was glad when the nurse told him that he would probably lose that today.

The short periods of time he had been left alone, he couldn't get comfortable. Sleeping on his back put pressure on his wound and lying on his right side was unbearable due to the tugging of the chest tubes. Attempting to lie on his left side was unthinkable.

Gail had put a pillow under his left side and that had helped a little. It raised his back off the mattress enough to relieve some pressure, but didn't turn him so much that his hoses pulled. Eric thought he had received enough medication to put down a bull, but instead, the meds only seemed to warp time and make everything dreamlike. He would sleep, and it would feel like hours had passed, but when he looked at the clock, it would show only minutes had gone by. It was an eerie and disorienting feeling.

Eric raised the head of the bed, only then noticing his breakfast sitting on the table. For lack of anything better to do rather than any desire to eat, he inspected the tray's contents. Apple juice, chicken broth, green Jell-o and tea. He sipped the juice then tried some of the soup. His face scrunched up as he swallowed the liquid. It tasted like the key ingredient of the foul-tasting broth was tennis shoes. Old, stinky tennis shoes. The gelatin was rubbery, and he almost gagged. He washed it down with another sip of apple juice and ignored the tea.

Finished, he pushed the tray away and rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead in a grinding motion. A fierce headache had started around his eyes, and his attempt to ease the pain failed. He dropped his hand listlessly. After a moment, he fumbled for the remote control and switched on the television.

The morning newscast was in the midst of rehashing yesterday's incident. Eric was about to change the channel when Foster's picture flashed onto the screen. His hand stilled on the remote, his breathing quickened.

In the picture, Foster smiled, his face rounder and fuller, the photo obviously taken at some earlier date. It looked to be a school photograph, not a mug shot, but that made it even scarier. Alan Foster looked like your average kid, the proverbial boy next door. There was no hint of the anger and desperation that had driven him to plan and execute the crime he had committed yesterday. Eric could stand in the halls of Dillon High School and spot dozens of boys who looked as innocent as Foster.

"Hey, babe." Tami entered the room; her sunglasses perched on top of her head. In one hand, she held some magazines.

"Hey." Eric tore his gaze from the screen and tried to smile but the effort was beyond him. "Where's Julie?"

"She went to school. They brought in a team of counselors so I thought it was best for her to go. I told her she could call me if she wants to come home." Tami leaned over and kissed him on the brow. Her lips felt cool and soft, and Eric closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Her palm replaced her lips and that felt wonderful too.

"Sugar? You feel warm."

Eric opened his eyes, somewhat surprised. He didn't feel warm. In fact, he thought the room was positively frigid. As if on cue, a violent shiver shook his body.

Tami looked at him with concern. "I'm going to go get your nurse." She set the magazines down on a shelf near the head of the bed, but before she could leave, Eric gripped her hand.

"C'mere" With his left hand, he slowly reached up and pulled his oxygen mask down.

Puzzled, Tami looked at him and he tugged her hand, urging her down towards him. Understanding dawned and she bent for a kiss.

"I love you," Eric whispered. She smelled so good. Clean and fresh. He remembered the day before and how all he had wanted was more time with his family. His wish had been granted and he began pull her down for another kiss. He wanted to make the most of his good fortune.

The nurse chose that moment to enter the room. "I see you're feeling a little better, Eric." The nurse stood beside the bed, a grin on her face and her hands on her hips.

Tami straightened so quickly, Eric worried she'd suffer whiplash. He cursed the nurse and her poor timing. A blush stained Tami's cheeks and Eric would have laughed if he hadn't felt so bad. He smiled instead, but then grimaced when another chill swept over him.

Tami and the nurse exchanged a glance and Tami said, "I was just going to call you. He feels warm." She placed a palm on Eric's forehead again. Pure bliss. He sighed and closed his eyes.

The nurse pursed her lips and nodded. "Let me get his temp."

Eric squinted up at the women in annoyance and wished they would quit talking about him as if he wasn't there. However, it was the least of his complaints. His head was killing him and his pain meds must have worn off because every breath hurt. He opened his mouth for the temperature probe and closed his eyes.

"101.4" The nurse shook her head. "I'll be back with some Tylenol and your next dose of pain meds, Eric."

* * *

Matt doodled in his notebook. The assembly had occupied the whole sixth period. So-called experts re-hashed what had happened and the school's response to it, and from the way they heartily congratulated themselves on the outcome, it appeared they thought they were personally responsible for how everything turned out. 

Matt glanced at the current speaker and shook his head. The only ones responsible for it were Smash, Riggins and Coach. If it hadn't been for Coach grabbing the gun and then, later, Smash knocking the kid out, who knows what might have happened? The doodle took on the outlines of Foster's face, the eyes cold and hard. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the intense look of anger and hatred that had radiated from Foster. It didn't help that Matt had been forced to repeat his role in the incident several dozen times already to teachers, students and even the press.

He kept waiting for someone to rib him about how he had puked at the sight of Coach with the knife in him, but nobody had even mentioned it. Matt bit his lip and added a deep shadow across Foster's face. He almost dared to hope that those that knew about it were keeping it quiet.

The bell rang, and looking around at the other students leaving, Matt guessed that the assembly had been dismissed. He closed the notebook, stuffed it in his book bag, and joined the line of kids exiting. All around him, he heard snatches of conversation. Kids spoke about where they had been and what they had done when the lockdown had begun.

"Hey, Matt."

Matt turned around and smiled when he saw Julie. "Hi." He hadn't seen her all day, but he'd heard from others that she was at school. He slung his book bag around to his left side so he could move closer to her. "How's your dad?"

She bit her lip. "He's okay, I guess. At least, he was last night when I saw him after surgery. He was awake and talking a little bit."

"Hey, that's great!" Matt grinned. They cleared the auditorium and made their way outside. He needed to go to practice but the locker-room was still off limits so they were just to meet at the field and walk through some plays. Secretly, he was glad. He wasn't sure he was ready to enter the locker room just yet.

Julie nodded, then frowned. "Yeah, but my mom hasn't called me with an update today. I kinda thought she would during lunch period."

"Are you going up to see him tonight?"

Julie stopped and looked around. "I'm supposed to meet Lois here for a ride home today. Do you see her?"

Matt gave the area a quick visual sweep. "Naw, but it's crazy out here."

"Yeah." Julie tucked strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm going up later tonight. My mom said she'd be home for dinner, then we'd go up together."

"Okay. So…uh, tell Coach I, uh, hope he gets better soon." Matt shoved a hand in his pocket and clutched the strap of his book bag with the other.

Julie smiled. "I will. But why don't you go up there yourself and tell him?"

"See him at the hospital?" Matt shook his head and shuffled his feet. "I don't want to bother him."

"You won't be bothering him. You're his quarterback. He probably wants to see you more than he wants to see me."

Matt's eyes flew to Julie's, but she was looking over his shoulder.

"There's Lois, I have to go. Talk to you later."

"Uh, yeah. Bye, Julie."

* * *

"Who are you here to see?" 

"Co…uh, Eric Taylor." Matt glanced around. The information desk sat in the middle of the hospital lobby. Fake plants stood lush and full on either side of the desk, and a little gift shop branched off the lobby to his left. Brightly colored stuffed animals decorated the window display and a cooler of fresh flowers beckoned visitors with beautiful bouquets. Matt looked down at the cheap vase clutched in his hand. A bunch of flowers from Grandma's garden spilled out haphazardly from the vase. He felt stupid bringing them, but Grandma had insisted.

"He's in ICU. Are you a family member?"

Matt swallowed. "Uh, no. I'm just on the football team. I'm his quarterback." The fact that he was still wearing his practice jersey must have escaped the woman's notice. Practice had been so light, he hadn't bothered to change, he had just gone home to drop off his book bag and tell his grandma where he was going. Luckily, Landry hadn't minded picking him up and driving him and said he'd be back in about an hour to pick Matt up.

"You're Matt Saracen?" The receptionist looked at him with surprise. "I thought you'd be taller."

"No, ma'am."

"Well, you just go right on in. The door to ICU is on your right. Coach Taylor's in room 118."

Matt thanked her and hesitantly made his way to Coach's room. He knew his way around the hospital pretty well since his grandma usually had her tests done as an outpatient, but he had never been in the ICU before. When Jason Street had been injured, Matt didn't feel he knew him well enough to visit except for that time the whole team had visited him. By then, Street had moved to the rehab facility.

He kept waiting for someone to question his presence, but nobody did. The nurses looked too busy to pay any attention to him as they rushed around or wrote in charts. Matt found Coach's room but stopped outside. The doors were glass, but a curtain blocked his vision of the bed. Tentatively, he knocked on the glass. "Hello?"

Footsteps tapped across the tile and Mrs. Taylor peeked around the curtain. "Matt. Come on in." She smiled and held hand out, beckoning him to enter.

Matt stepped around the curtain and paused, his eyes widening. A monitor hung in the far corner. A series of colored lines raced across the screen with corresponding numbers flashing in red and blue. A trio of IV poles flanked the bed. Coach lay still; his eyes closed. Matt's mental image of Coach was of a man who was perpetually in motion and always full of energy. Coach would yell or pace or even just glowering at some poor player who had the misfortune to incur his wrath. It took a moment for Matt to reconcile the man on the bed with the Coach that he knew. In Matt's opinion, Coach didn't look a whole lot better than he had yesterday…except, of course, for the absence of the knife. Matt turned to Mrs. Taylor. "Maybe I should come back another day."

Mrs. Taylor rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Matt. Come on and have a seat. Eric will probably wake up pretty soon here."

Matt allowed her to guide him towards a chair in the corner. Before he sat, he thrust the vase at the guidance counselor. "Here. These are from my grandma."

Mrs. Taylor smiled. "Thank you! How thoughtful! I'm sure these will help cheer up Coach and brighten the room." She bustled to the windowsill, and that was when Matt noticed a half dozen other vases full of beautiful bouquets. She scooted a couple over and put the shabby little bunch front and center. "There!" Mrs. Taylor beamed and turned to Matt. "Please tell your grandmother thank-you."

"Yes ma'am." Matt felt a blush heat his face as he sat a little straighter. Mrs. Taylor had a knack for making people feel at ease and good about themselves.

She stepped beside the bed, placed a hand on Coach's forehead and frowned. "He's been running a fever all day. He's still hot." A washcloth hung on the bedrail and she wet it in the sink beside the bed before placing it on Coach's head.

Matt began to stand. "I should go."

Mrs. Taylor waved him back. "Not yet. I want to talk to you." She stood with her hands on her hips, gazing at Coach for few seconds before sighing and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with the same motion Julie used. Matt scooted his chair over a few inches as she pulled one closer to his. "I just want to thank you for everything you did yesterday, Matt."

"I didn't do much of anything, Mrs. Taylor." Matt shrugged and ducked his head.

"That's not what Julie told me. She said you called for help and tried to keep her calm. She said she was scared and frantic and, at one point, tried to rush out of the closet to see what was happening. If it weren't for you, she probably would have."

Matt scratched his cheek. "I don't know that I did anything, ma'am. I mean, she…she did run out into the locker room later and I couldn't stop her."

Mrs. Taylor nodded. "Yes, I know. But, by then, nobody could have stopped her." She chuckled. "If there is one thing I know, it's that once Julie puts her mind to something, nothing or nobody can stop her. And then you followed her. You were still trying to keep her safe, weren't you?"

Matt looked at Mrs. Taylor, holding her gaze for a moment before looking away. "I tried but I don't know what good I would have done if Foster had tried to hurt her."

"But you kept your head. I'm thankful for that. Tim Riggins and Smash said that you were the first to help Coach."

Matt shrugged. "It wasn't much and I'm not even sure it was the right thing to do." He hung his head in embarrassment. "I puked when I saw Coach." The last came out in a near whisper.

Mrs. Taylor reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll tell you a secret, I almost did too. And I had been warned about the knife. I can imagine how awful that must have been for all of you."

Biting his lip, Matt nodded. "Yeah."

Coach coughed followed by a soft groan. His eyes opened and searched the room, landing on Matt. "Matt Saracen?" His voice was low and tinged with surprise.

"Yeah, Coach." Matt stood and wiped his hands on his thighs before approaching the bed. "I just came up to see how you're doing."

"Good. I'm doing okay." Coach fumbled for the bed controls. "How do I get this damn thing higher?"

Matt reached over the rail and pushed the correct button to raise the head of the bed. "Is that high enough?"

Coach nodded. "Thanks.

"Matt and his grandma sent some beautiful flowers, sugar."

A small smile crooked coach's mouth and his gaze slowly swung to the windowsill. "Oh yeah? Thanks, and tell your grandma thanks for me too."

Coach's eyes started to close and Matt took that as his cue to leave. "I gotta go. I hope you feel better soon, Coach." He began backing away from the bed. "See y'all."

"Wait, a sec." Coach's voice was quiet and strained as he tried to sit up straighter. His eyes focused on Matt. "I just want to say I owe you one, Saracen."

* * *

"I wonder when the doctor is going to be in?" Tami muttered as she removed the washcloth, dismayed to find that it was already warm. Eric appeared to be dozing again. She crossed to the sink, and wet the cloth and wrung it out. Glancing at the clock, she sighed and gently set the cool cloth back on Eric's brow. The doctor was supposed to be making evening rounds soon, according to the nurse. Tami didn't want to leave to get Julie until after he had been through to see Eric, but it was almost five-thirty, already. 

Tami pulled the curtain a bit so that she could see the nurse's station. To her relief, she spotted the surgeon at the desk, perusing a chart. She turned back to the bed and gave Eric's right shoulder a small shake. "Hon? The doctor will be here in a minute."

Eric opened his eyes and nodded. With a grunt, he attempted to sit straighter.

"Hello, Eric," Doctor Stone said as he breezed into the room a minute or so later. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay."

The doctor's eyebrows rose as he looked skeptically at Eric. "Really? " He approached the bed, glanced at the boxes connected to the chest tubes, and then lifted the left side of Eric's hospital gown. "Let's just get a look."

Tami moved to the other side of the bed and assisted Eric as he struggled to turn on to his right side to allow the doctor to inspect the wound on his back. The doctor peeled away the tape on the dressing and gently pressed around the wound site.

Tami tried to keep her expression neutral when she saw the angry red scar on Eric's back. She was aware of her husband intently watching her face as he maintained a white knuckled grip on the bedrail. The wound wasn't as big as she expected, but right now, it was inflamed and the area around it appeared swollen and discolored by bruising.

Finished, the doctor taped the dressing back in place. "Okay, Eric, you can turn back now."

With a great sigh, Eric released the bed rail and relaxed. His face was pale and a thin sheen of perspiration bathed his face.

Dr. Stone stepped over to the computer near the bedside and pulled up some numbers on the screen, frowning as he did so.

Turning back to the bed, he said, "Well, Eric, it looks like you have an infection."

Eric nodded. "Yeah." His voice sounded flat, expressionless and he didn't seem to be paying too much attention to the doctor. His eyes blinked slowly, and stayed closed longer with each blink.

Tami wasn't surprised about the infection, but still, she had hoped that the surgeon would have better news. "So, what does that mean, Dr.Stone?" She fished the washcloth out of the sheets where it had fallen and used it to gently wipe Eric's face.

The doctor crossed his arms. "Well, I'm going to switch his antibiotics; give him something stronger and repeat the blood work tomorrow. I'm pretty confident that this will clear up in a few days. I'm not at all surprised about the infection, because, like I told you yesterday, the wound went deep. I don't know if you saw the knife?"

Tami shook her head. "Not really." Then she shuddered. "Well, I did see the handle, but not the whole knife." She glanced at Eric, relieved that he looked to be asleep. He probably didn't need to hear this.

The doctor's mouth set in a grim line as he stepped away from the bed; he nodded with his head towards the hallway. "Why don't we let him sleep and I can discuss it with you out here."

Tami to followed him and they stopped a few steps from the nurse's station.

Dr. Stone leaned against the counter surrounding the station. "The knife is now in the possession of the police as evidence, but it has a nasty looking blade. Six inches long and curved at the end."

Tami blanched and put her hands to the sides of her head. "Oh my God."

"I'm sorry, I probably should have kept my mouth shut. I just wanted you to know so that you understood that even though we removed the knife relatively easily, I expected an infection to follow. I _hoped_ I would be wrong, I still think Eric will pull through this with no lasting damage." He clapped a hand on her shoulder, his blue eyes regarding her with concern. "Are you okay?"

Tami nodded briefly. "Yes. I'm fine." She took a deep breath. At least, she would be fine, eventually.


	11. Chapter 10

Eric leaned his forehead against the fourth floor window of his hospital room. Down below, he could see leaves swirling down the street. Occasionally, one would fly as high as his window, and would float gently, rocking back and forth before another breeze would send it whirling away. The sky was the incredible deep blue seen only in autumn. In the distance, he could see the light poles from the football field. This week was a bye week, and Eric had every intention of being at the next game. He felt like he needed to be there. That once he was out on the field coaching again, his life would be back to normal.

Sighing, Eric turned and trudged back to his bed, the Pleur-Evac handle clutched in his left hand. Rubber tubes dangled down and connected to the chambers. Carefully, he set the box down on the floor, making sure the tubes weren't kinked. At least the device wasn't connected to suction any more. He turned and gave a tug on the oxygen tubing, cursing softly when it caught on the opposite corner of his bed. Thankfully, his IV was disconnected for the moment. A couple of times a day, the nurse used the one remaining port to administer antibiotics, and for that short time, he remained tethered to his bed. He could get up, but he found it was too much hassle to deal with the chest tubes, IV pole, and the nasal cannula still supplying him with a little extra oxygen. Sometimes, he felt trapped, like a fly in a spider web of tubing.

With a soft groan, Eric sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled his tray table close.

His lunch had been delivered a few minutes earlier, and with a decided lack of enthusiasm, he lifted the lid off the plate. Baked chicken, rice pilaf and green beans. _Yum._

Eric almost dropped the cover back on the plate, but remembered the doctor's admonishment that he needed to eat more. For some reason, he didn't have much appetite; probably a side effect of the medications he had received. The chicken was so dry and tough that cutting it taxed what little strength he had. After a few bites, he pushed the tray away and gingerly eased back in the bed, closing his eyes.

The thought of relaxing in his recliner watching game tapes while Tami and Julie sat on the couch reading sent a sharp ache to his chest that had nothing to do with the chest tubes or the stab wound. He just wanted to go home. He needed to go home to be with his family. To feel their presence and let it soak into him.

Eric wanted to smell the scent of make-up and shampoo, and candles burning on the mantle; to hear the sound of Julie chatting on the phone, her music playing just loud enough to get on his nerves, but not quite loud enough to be obnoxious. He longed to sleep next to his soft, warm, beautiful wife. He smiled, imagining spooning up against her back, strands of strawberry blonde hair tickling his nose. His body relaxed, his limbs becoming pleasantly heavy as he began to drift off to sleep.

Several minutes later, his eyes snapped open and he struggled to sit up. Vivid images of the attack assaulted his memory. He had been too sick and out of it the last few days to have much time to think about what had happened, but now that he was firmly on the road to recovery, his mind replayed the incident. Every time, Eric felt a sense of shame overcome him. He felt shame for not getting through to Foster, and shame that he was involved in a system that allowed football to become so important. It was just a game; it was only football.

Sighing, Eric pushed the bed control and raised the head of the bed. So much for the nap, he thought wearily. He rubbed his eyes, wincing at the tenderness that remained around his left eye. Eric raised his right hand and fingered the cut on his neck. It had required fifteen stitches and had come within millimeters of slicing through his jugular vein. As it was, it had nicked the vessel. No wonder it had bled so much.

Coach turned his gaze towards the window. From his vantage point on the bed, he couldn't see much except for tree tops and blue sky, but it beat staring at the walls. His mind turned back to the incident. Beneath the anger and hatred, Eric had glimpsed a yearning and vulnerability in Alan Foster. The boy longed for his father's unconditional acceptance. To be accepted for who he was, and even though Eric didn't know Foster's dad personally, he knew his kind. They put incredible pressure on their kids to succeed where they had failed. They saw in their children the chance fulfill their own dreams. Of course, the only one who really knew why Foster's dad had left was the man himself, but Eric was certain it didn't have as much to do with Alan as the boy thought it did.

While Foster had obviously had some real animosity towards football players, the coach felt that Foster's true anger had been directed towards his father. Only, his father wasn't available, so that anger had been focused full force on Eric, and by extension, the team. Eric knew that football coaches often filled father figure roles for many players. It was impossible to miss the eagerness in their eyes. Their desire to win Eric's approval. Many times, the only incentive for the kids to play so hard was to get a word or two of praise from him. They lapped up the least little crumb like adoring puppies. It was humbling and flattering and, sometimes, it scared the hell out of him.

"Uh, Coach?"

Eric turned his head, blinking at the spots that danced in front of his eyes from staring out at the bright sunshine. His room was much dimmer, and the person in the doorway was only a vague outline. He squinted and identified the person as Tim Riggins. It was the first time he had seen his fullback since the locker room.

"Hey, Tim. Come on in." Eric sat a little straighter and pulled his covers up, anchoring them at his waist with his left hand. It embarrassed him to be seen lying in a bed, but he didn't have much choice in the matter.

Riggins slowly entered, and Eric noticed the large pizza box in Tim's hands.

Tim lifted the box slightly. "Mrs. Taylor mentioned that you didn't like the food here, so I brought a pizza. I hope you like pepperoni."

Eric smiled. Pizza was very welcome after bland hospital food. "Sure. Pepperoni's great." He gestured to a nearby chair. "Have a seat."

Tim looked for a place to set the pizza, but the tray table still held Eric's lunch tray. "I'll hold the pizza if you want to just move the tray over to the window ledge." Eric held out his hands.

"Yeah, okay." Tim handed Coach the box and quickly cleared the table.

Eric cocked his head. He didn't smell anything. And, the box was cold. Real cold. He set it on the cleared table and lifted the lid. Half of a cold, greasy pizza rested in the box. It was all he could do not to break out laughing. Riggins had brought him leftovers! Eric reached in a lifted out a slice. What the hell, cold pizza still beat hospital food any day of the week.

"Thanks." Eric managed between bites. "You gonna have some?"

Tim shook his head. "No, I already ate."

Eric grinned. "Yeah, so I see."

* * *

Other than asking Coach if he wanted something to drink, Tim sat quietly. He hadn't been sure about bringing in the pizza, but he wanted to bring something…anything that would be a good excuse to come see Coach, and when Mrs. Taylor had said Coach wasn't eating much, he had the idea to bring the food. Coach seemed to be enjoying it, so Tim relaxed, trying not to look at the rubber tubes dangling from Coach's torso. One had a pinkish fluid in it, and the box connected to it, to appeared to be full of blood. Tim swallowed hard. He didn't think he could eat now even if he was starving.

Coach finished a slice, drank some water and sat back. "That was great, Tim. Thanks for bringing it."

Tim sat forward. "Aren't you gonna have some more?"

Coach shook his head. "I had some lunch before you came in. It wasn't too good though."

Tim sat back. "Oh. Okay." He stood up then, feeling restless, and wandered over to the ledge where he had set Coach's lunch tray. Dozens of cards hung from to the wall above it. Flowers and plants occupied every available flat surface. A huge plant perched on the windowsill had a card poking out. It was from Buddy Garrity. Tim wondered if Lyla had helped pick out the plant. Somehow, he just couldn't picture big ol' Buddy Garrity choosing plants to send to someone in the hospital. He fingered a dark green, shiny leaf briefly then moved on to a small, wilting bouquet, obviously from someone's garden. Tim plucked out the card resting haphazardly in the middle of the bouquet. It was from the Saracens.

Tim looked back at Coach and he could feel his face flush with shame. He should have thought to send something. It was the least he could have done after screwing up so badly. "Well, I guess I'll get going, Coach."

Coach Taylor shook his head, his expression serious. "Hold on a minute. You just got here."

Tim met his coach's eyes for the first time since entering the room. Coach regarded Tim, his hazel eyes steady and unwavering. Unreadable. Tim squirmed under the scrutiny.

"Riggins, sit your ass down. We need to talk." Coach's voice was quiet, but firm.

Obediently, Tim sat on the chair again. Here it comes, he thought, dreading the ass- chewing he'd get, but resigned to it, knowing he deserved everything Coach would say and more. He wondered if he would be kicked off the team.

Coach turned slowly to sit on the edge of the bed, and Tim winced in sympathy at the obvious discomfort the movement caused the man. Coach bit his lip and closed his eyes tightly.

Tim started to get up. "You okay, Coach?"

Coach Taylor let out a big breath, and opened his eyes then held his hand up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sit back down. I just moved too fast."

Tim sat back again. If that was fast, he hated to see slow. He looked down, guilt stealing over him again. It was all his fault that his coach was going through this pain.

"You okay, Tim?"

Tim's head shot up at the question. "I'm just fine, Coach." He shifted in the chair.

Coach narrowed his eyes and said softly, "I don't think you are. Have you talked to anyone about what happened in the locker room?"

Tim shook his head and looked away. He felt a flush of embarrassment when his eyes welled up. He closed them, willing the wetness away.

"Well, I'm glad _you're_ feeling okay, because I tell ya, every time I close my eyes, I see Foster again. I see him hitting you with the gun. I see that knife and then feel it at my throat."

Coach stopped for moment and touched the bandage on his neck, and Tim felt guilt jolt through him once more as he remembered how Coach had received that cut.

"And I see Foster shoving you into my office. It scares the hell outta me every time."

Surprised, Tim looked up. Coach met his gaze for a moment then looked down at the tray table in front of him, swirling one finger through a ring of condensation left by a water glass. He continued, his voice hoarse, "I apologize for not doing more to get you out of that mess. I should have been able to stop Foster." Coach raised his eyes. "I'm sorry you got hurt."

Tim shook his head. "No, Coach. It was my fault. I was holding the knife when it…it…" Tim's voice trailed away. He couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence. "If I had been faster, or…or stronger, maybe, I could have gotten the knife away from him."

Coach ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "No, you did the best you could. It happened so fast, and I couldn't tell you what I was going to do, I just hoped you'd figure it out."

Tim nodded, surprised to find out that Coach hadn't said anything during that moment before he had grabbed Foster's gun hand. Tim could almost swear that Coach had told him the plan. Thinking back, he knew Coach couldn't have said anything. Foster had the gun trained on Tim at the time, and Tim would never forget the look that had been in Coach's eyes at that moment. Fear and shock at first, then he had looked at Tim, and Tim just knew what the other man was going to do as clearly as if Coach had called an audible. The fear disappeared from Coach's eyes at that moment. Determination, resignation and something else that Tim couldn't quite name replaced the fear. Sorrow? Peace?

That thought startled Tim. He had tried to block the whole scene out of his mind for the past five days, but now it came back with terrifying clarity. He now knew the meaning of that look. Coach had expected to die when he made the move on Foster. He had expected it, and yet he had jumped Foster anyway. Why? Why would he do that? Why would Coach Taylor risk dying to try to save him?

Tim dropped his head, unable to stop the tears that came this time. He stood and walked to the window, avoiding his coach's gaze but feeling it follow him across the room. Nobody ever did shit for him. Hell, his own dad didn't bother with him. Why should Coach care if he lived or died? He stood for several minutes. He could hear Coach getting out of bed, but he didn't turn around. His face was still wet, and ducking his head, Tim swiped his eyes across his shoulder. He blinked hard, relieved when the tears stopped and began drying up.

"Tim. This wasn't your fault. It was mostly Foster's fault, but I should have done more too. You're a good kid and I'm sorry you got caught in the middle of all this." Coach's hand rested on his shoulder.

Tim laughed out loud, the sound bitter and sharp. "Good kid? I think you have me mixed up with Street or Saracen, Coach."

"Nope. I know who I'm talking about."

Tim turned. "Coach, I'm a fuck-up. We both know that. I party too much and I'll be lucky to graduate."

Coach shrugged, but then froze for second, pain flitting across his face, he let out a deep breath before saying, "You're a little messed up, but shit, who isn't at 17? I know I was. I got myself straightened out, and you can too. My dad made sure I did."

Tim remained silent. A little flame of hope stirred within him at Coach's words. If Coach had messed up as a kid but still turned out okay, maybe there was hope for him. Then his hope plunged. "Yeah, well, lucky you, Coach." Tim hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic, but he felt hopeless now. His dad didn't give a rat's ass about him. Tim knew he couldn't count on him for support.

Coach nodded. "Yeah, I was lucky, but I want you to know that I'll be there for you. You can come to me any time, you hear?" Coach poked a finger at Tim's chest. "I _expect _you to come to me, understand?"

Tim felt the hope surge again, but remained silent, unable to voice what he was feeling. "Yes, sir."

Coach grinned. "I'm going to ride your ass so hard to keep you on the straight and narrow; you'll be wishing you had a second chance with that knife."


	12. Chapter 13

Eric glanced at the clock on the wall for about the tenth time in as many minutes. The doctor had been in early this morning and had somewhat reluctantly discharged him. Tami and Julie would be up after church to pick him up. He hoped the sermon didn't go on too long. He was anxious to get out of here. A week in the hospital was more than long enough.

He showered, shaved, and was in the process of dressing in real clothes. Eric pulled his dark green shirt out of the bag of clothes Tami had left last night. Bless her; she'd had the foresight to pack a button down shirt. That would be a lot easier to put on than a pullover. He laid the shirt on the bed and pulled out his oldest, most comfortable pair of jeans. He grinned. His wife knew him so well.

A few minutes later, he had to sit and catch his breath after wrestling to get his legs in the jeans and pulling them up. His left arm was much weaker than his right and donning the pants required more effort than he would have thought possible. The shirt was easier, but after pulling it up over his shoulders, he let it hang unbuttoned while he rested with his head back and his eyes closed His right hand lightly rubbed the scars from the chest tubes. Yesterday, he'd had the 'pleasure' of having them removed. It had been about as fun as getting a tooth pulled without Novocain, but at least he was finally free of all tubes and needles. He was still very sore, but the shower had helped a lot. Eric felt almost like a new man. Straightening slowly, he buttoned the shirt. He wanted to be ready to leave the minute his wife and daughter walked through the door.

Tami and Julie had taken the flowers and cards home with them the night before, so there wasn't much to do besides wait. He remained in the chair, avoiding the bed and vowing to never lie in a hospital bed again if he could help it. Finally, too restless to sit any longer, he stood and paced to the window. He could have whooped for joy when he spotted Tami's car pulling into a parking space. Grinning, he decided to head out to the elevator to meet them.

The nurses' station was a beehive of activity and Eric remembered that he and Tami had discussed how they could show their appreciation to the staff that had been so good to him. They had decided to order pizzas to be delivered today for lunch to the nurses on this floor and the ICU nurses with a second delivery for later in the evening for the second and third shift staff. Tami had already called the pizza place and arranged everything, all the nurses had to do was decide what kind, how many and place the order.

Impatiently, Eric stood by the elevators and watched as the numbers flashed from the first floor to the fourth. He startled a poor housekeeper when the doors opened and there he stood beaming at her for the second it took him to realize that Tami and Julie weren't in the elevator. She maneuvered her cart over the threshold and threw an odd look at Eric.

"Sorry. I was expecting someone else," Eric said as he felt a blush creep up his face.

The housekeeper recovered quickly and grinned. "Too bad it's not me."

The blush deepened as the housekeeper laughed and pushed her cleaning cart down the hall.

"Hey, sugar! Wow, I guess you _are_ anxious to get out here." Tami laughed as she stepped out of the second elevator.

Julie followed her. "How come your face is all red, Dad?"

Tami frowned and reached out, stroking the back of her hand against his cheek. "Yeah, hon. Are you sure you feel okay? You look all flushed."

Eric chuckled. "I'm fine. I just…I thought…aw hell, never mind."

* * *

Eric tried not to wince when the car bumped over the curb as Tami turned into the driveway. He held tight to the door handle and let out sigh when the car came to a gentle stop.

"Sorry about that." Tami pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head as she turned towards him. Her brow furrowed in concern.

"That's okay," Eric said, his discomfort already forgotten as he looked at his home. It was hard to believe it was only last Monday that he'd left the house in the morning for what he thought would be a typical day.

A few minutes later, he sighed as he sank into his recliner. He clutched the remote in his hand and a tall glass of iced tea sat beside him on the table. Tami had gone to change out of her church clothes and Eric could hear her rummaging around in the closet. With a click, he switched on the television. The Cowboys were playing now and then later this evening, the Bears and the Cardinals were scheduled for NBC Sunday Night Football. He hoped Benson got a chance to play a little.

"You need anything else, Dad?" Julie asked, her own glass of iced tea in one hand, a book in the other.

Eric rolled his head to smile at her. "No, thanks hon. I have everything I need right here."

An hour later, Eric stood and stretched gingerly. He could raise his left arm a little now, but the stitches were starting to pull and burn a bit. The physical therapist had given him a regimen of exercises to do to increase his range of motion.

Eric ambled into the kitchen to find a snack. Julie had left for the Alamo Freeze a little while before after receiving a call from Matt Saracen. Those two sure seemed to be getting pretty close. Eric wondered if he should be worried. He knew Matt was a good kid, but you could never be too careful. Standing in front of the open fridge, he scanned the shelves.

"Hey, hon. Are you hungry?"

Eric looked up as Tami entered the kitchen. "No, not really. I'm just bored."

She looked at the television then back to Eric. "What about the game?"

"Half-time. And the Cowboys are getting smoked."

"Oh, well, sorry about that. You have that book on your nightstand. I could get if for you."

Eric shut the fridge and smiled at Tami. "I can get it, but thanks for offering. Maybe I'll just lie down for a little while."

Tami nodded. "Why don't you do that and I'll run over to the market and pick up some things for dinner. Any requests? What are you hungry for?"

Eric moved close and drew her into his arms. He kissed her hair, savoring the fresh scent. "I'll show ya what I'm hungry for." He dropped his head and trailed kisses along her neck, grinning against her throat as she squirmed and laughed.

"I don't think the doctor would approve. He said you're supposed to rest!" She squealed out the last word when Eric hit an especially sensitive spot.

Eric worked his way up to Tami's mouth, silencing any further protest. After a minute or so, he broke off the kiss and smoothed her hair away from her face. He wanted so badly to take his wife into the bedroom, but he was beginning to feel a little light-headed. Groaning, he rested his head against hers. "The mind is willing, but…" he trailed off.

Tami raised her hand and smoothed Eric's hair back. "Don't rush it, babe. We have all the time in the world."

Eric smiled and leaned back, releasing Tami. "We do, don't we?"

* * *

Tami beamed at him, her hair wild around her head. She began to slowly unbutton her shirt. Eric swallowed hard and moved closer, but she backed up. Behind her was a goal post. Every time Eric approached, she danced away, a deep throaty laugh floating back to him. She was trying to score a touchdown! He had to stop her! He ran as fast as he could, but she ran faster. The grass was deep, hindering his running and Eric wondered fleetingly why the field was so neglected. Where were the yard lines?

He was gasping, trying his best to catch his wife, but she easily out-distanced him, calling back to him over her shoulder. Taunting him. "Errrrrrriiiic!"

His ribs began to ache, but he put on a last burst of speed.

"Errriiiic!"

Grinning, he reached out, intending to scoop her off her feet. She turned, and to his horror, her face morphed into Buddy Garrity's!

"Eric!"

"What?" His eyes snapped open. Hovering over him was the vision from his nightmare! Eric bolted upright, gasping and clutching his left side. He looked around wildly. He was in his bed, in his room.

"You okay, Eric?" Buddy's brow furrowed in concern. "It looked like you were having a hard time breathing."

Running a shaky hand through his hair, Eric closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. "Damn, Buddy! You scared me half to death!" He swung his legs off the bed and leaned forward, rubbing his eyes. Shaking his head, he turned a glare on the big man. "What the hell are you doing in my house? In my _bedroom_?

"Sorry. I ran into Tami at the store and she said you were home. I rang the doorbell and then knocked but nobody answered. I thought something might have happened."

Sighing, Eric stood. "Thanks for your concern, but I'm fine. Or, I will be in a minute." Rolling his shoulders and grimacing, he motioned to Buddy. "Come on. Let's go out into the living room."

"Good idea." Buddy smirked before following him out of the bedroom.

"You want something to drink?"

"A beer sounds good."

Eric opened the fridge. He was pretty sure he'd seen a couple of bottles in there earlier. He grabbed one for Buddy but opted for a soda for himself, not sure how beer would go with the oral antibiotics he was still on.

Buddy picked up the remote from the arm of Eric's recliner and then settled himself on the couch with a loud sigh.

"Are you comfortable, Buddy?" Eric couldn't bite back the sarcasm. It looked like the other man was settling in for a nice long visit.

"Oh yeah, this is great."

Eric reached over and snatched the remote out of Buddy's hand, giving him a dirty look as he did so. A man had to draw the line somewhere. He lowered himself carefully into his recliner. That sudden movement when he woke up had pulled at his stitches and he was feeling the pain still. He should have grabbed a pain pill from the prescription the doctor had given him. "So, did you come over for a particular reason?"

Buddy took a long pull on his beer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, I wanted to see how you were, Eric. I tried to get up to see you, but you were still in ICU then and they wouldn't let me in."

Eric glanced at Buddy then clicked through until he found another game in progress. "Yeah, well, sorry about that."

"I couldn't believe that they little Matt Saracen in to see you, but not _me_." Buddy shook his head. "I mean, can you _believe_ that?"

He tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn't. "That's because you're not QB1." Eric grinned at Buddy. "You know how things are in this town."

"Yeah, Eric, uh, speaking of which, the Boosters had a meeting and we were wondering when you would be able to go back to work?"

Eric turned to him in disbelief. He was out of the hospital less than three hours and already the Boosters were wondering?

Buddy had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Not that you should rush or anything, mind you, take all the time you need. We were just talking about it is all. We didn't know if we should find a replacement-just a temporary one. It's just…well, you know, the season is only half ov-"

"I know exactly where we are in the season, Buddy. I don't need any reminders from you or the Boosters." Eric's mouth set in a grim line. He was anxious to get back to work himself, but it stung that the town was already looking to replace him.

Eric clicked off the TV and stood, looking down at Buddy pointedly. "I'm feeling a bit tired. I think I need to lie down for awhile."

Buddy looked up at him in surprise but took his cue and stood, taking a last pull on his beer. "Sure, Eric. You get some rest, and it was good to see you. Really, take all the time you need."

"You can tell the Boosters that I'll be back to work by Thursday," Eric bit out. He was due to get the stitches removed on Tuesday. He wasn't sure if the doctor would agree to release him back to work, but he'd convince him somehow.

* * *

"Okay, that should do it." Dr. Stone pulled off his gloves and tossed them in the garbage. He crossed to the sink and washed his hands. "Everything looks to be healing nicely. That cut on your neck shouldn't leave too much of a scar. At least that kid used a nice sharp knife."

"Uh, yeah. I'll be sure to thank him for that when I see him in court." Eric fingered the half-healed cut on his throat. It was still very tender, but the doc was right. It was red now, but the cut was thin and once it faded, would be hardly noticeable.

Chuckling, Dr. Stone picked up Eric's chart and started making notations.

Eric pushed himself to a sitting position, his feet dangling off the exam table. He took a deep breath, glad that the burning and pulling sensation from the stitches was gone. Gingerly, he reached for his shirt and pulled it on. "So, Doc, I was wondering if you could sign my work release for me."

Dr. Stone laughed and didn't even look up from writing. "Nope, but nice try."

"But we have a game on Friday. A big game." Eric gripped the edge of the table.

The doctor looked up, his smile fading as he saw that Eric was serious. "Look, Eric. I would love to release you, but I just can't. It's way too soon."

Eric remained mute but stubbornly held the doctor's gaze, almost glaring at the physician.

"You do realize that a six inch knife practically gave you a lobectomy in your left lung, right? And that by the time we drained all the accumulated blood out of your chest cavity, that your blood had the consistency of Kool-Aid?" Dr. Stone shook his head and sighed. "We came really close to losing you, Eric, and despite the fact that you've had a remarkable recovery thus far, I don't think it would be wise to push it."

Eric nodded. He knew it had been a close call, though he preferred not to hear the details. "I don't mean to pressure you, but…" his voice trailed off as he ran a hand through his hair and tried to hide a grimace as he slid off the exam table. "The Boosters--they're looking for a replacement. I can't lose my job, Doc."

Dr. Stone eyes narrowed. "They can't fire you for this."

"They don't have to. All they have to do is pay me my short-term disability, and then at the end of it, say that the position has already been filled. I'm not covered under the Family Medical Leave Act."

"But why would they do that? They just hired you."

"The season will be almost over by then and they may not want to have to deal with a coaching controversy. The kids will be used to the other coach and it'll be hard on them to have to switch again." Eric ducked his head and buttoned his shirt, unable to meet Dr. Stone's gaze. He hated the desperation he could hear in his own voice. He needed this job, and his coaching position had already been in a tenuous at best after losing the second game. This town wanted wins and not excuses. There was an uncomfortable silence and Eric finally looked up.

The doctor leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. "I understand your position, Eric, I really do, but I don't feel you're ready yet."

"I _have_ to be ready, Doc."

The surgeon sighed and shook his head. "You better not make me regret this." He turned and rifled through some papers in Eric's chart; pulled one out and signed it. "I'm releasing you on the condition that you do nothing strenuous, got it? Nothing that's going to put under pressure on that healing lung. No running, no blowing on the whistle, and definitely no yelling, understand?"

Eric grinned and nodded, reaching for the paper.

Dr. Stone pulled it back, just out of Eric's reach. "I'm not done yet. Basically, you are to do paper work, watch game tapes, that sort of thing. I don't even think you should be on the field. When you get tired—and you will—you are to rest. No excuses. I want to see you back here in a month, sooner if you have any problems."

"Yes, sir." Eric snatched the paper and was out the door before the doctor could change his mind.

* * *

"Thursday?" Tami set her purse down on the kitchen counter and turned to Eric, sure she must have heard wrong. "_This_ Thursday?"

"Yes, this Thursday." Eric met her gaze but only for a second before he set the papers he'd received at the doctor's office down on the breakfast bar. "The doctor cleared me and everything." He pulled a paper from the pile and waved it. "See?"

Tami didn't even spare a glance at the form. She believed him, she just didn't understand it. "You just got your stitches out an hour ago!" She ran a hand through her hair in exasperation. The doctor's appointment had been Eric's first trip out of the house since coming home two days ago and he looked completely wiped. How in the world did he expect to coach in two days?

"I'm just going to be doing paperwork and stuff. I'm not even sure I'll be on the sideline Friday night."

Tami crossed her arms and just looked at him.

"Okay, I'll be on the sideline, but Mack's gonna do all the actual coaching. I swear. I won't even wear the headset."

"Honey, don't you think you should give yourself some time to heal? Why the rush?"

Eric looked away for a moment, and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. Taking a deep breath, he let his hand drop with a sigh. "Look, if I don't get out there, the Boosters could replace me. I _have_ to do this."

Tami's mouth dropped open. "Replace you? They can't do that!"

Eric raised a hand in an attempt to halt her rant. "Yes, they can. Coaches are fired all the time; you know that."

"But…"

"Hold up. I didn't say they _would_ fire me, only that they _could_. According to Buddy, they were only thinking temporary replace-"

"Buddy Garrity's behind this?" Tami interrupted, her anger bubbling over. "I should have known. That man's an idiot!"

Eric scrubbed his hands down his face, his expression weary. "Yeah, well, at least he gave me a heads-up."

Tami bit back a smart retort when she saw the toll this argument was taking on Eric. He looked pale and drawn. She went to him and took his face between her hands. "I'm sorry, sugar. I know you're feeling pressured. You promise you won't over do it?"

Eric turned his head, kissing her palm. "I promise."

* * *

Eric arrived early to work on Thursday. Opening the door to his office, he stood for a second, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. His hands were clammy and he wiped them on his pants, wishing he could wipe the fear away as easily as he could the sweat. Eric glanced at the hallway door, relieved to see that its lock had been replaced. The desk lamp was new too. He tossed his playbook on top of his desk and sat in the chair.

For thirty minutes, he concentrated on paperwork, finding that when he was occupied, he could push the images of what had happened the last time he had been in this room behind a wall in his mind. At the fringes though, and in all the nooks and crannies, were bits and pieces that sought to disrupt his thoughts. Disgusted, he threw his pencil down and stood up. The team would begin arriving shortly. He needed to see the locker room before that.

He made it a few feet into the room before the musty smell fired up every detail of the incident in his memory. His eyes zeroed in on the dark spot staining the cement. It was obvious that someone had attempted to remove it because all around the stain, the cement shone a brighter, cleaner color than the rest of the floor. That was the only indication of what had happened here.

Eric averted his eyes from the evidence and took a deep breath. He could handle this; he just needed to think about something else. Something like how to prepare for this week's game. His team was bound to be a bit unfocused and preoccupied and it was up to him to re-center them. The problem was, he felt the same way. Eric took a last look around and returned to his desk, glad that his heart had settled down to a normal rate and the initial fear and nervousness had dissipated. It wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be.

Eric rummaged through his collection of game tapes, looking for the one for this week's opponent. Swearing softly, he moved a stack of tapes out of the way and stuck his head farther in between the shelves. Mack obviously had a different organizing system.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Eric jumped and banged his head on the upper shelf. "Ow! Dammit, Mack!" Eric rubbed the back of his head and shot the offensive coordinator a dirty look. "Ya know, you could make a little noise to let me know you're here."

"I did make noise. I asked you what you're doing here." Mack crossed his arms. "I'm still waiting for an answer."

"Last time I checked, _I _was the coach. What do you _think_ I'm doing here?" Eric couldn't suppress the defensive tone in his voice.

Mack regarded him with a steady gaze and finally shook his head. "Look, Eric, I just wondered why you're back so soon. The doctor cleared you already?" His face showed his doubt.

Eric nodded but avoided the other man's eyes. Mack didn't need to know the details of how Eric had to practically beg for the release. "Yes, he did. However, you will be wearing the headset tomorrow night. I'm just gonna be on the sideline for support, mainly. I…I can't really raise my voice much yet, so you get to do all the yelling too." He didn't know why, but he was embarrassed to admit his limitations.

Mack sat on the couch and propped his feet up on the table. "You must have heard the rumors."

Eric tried to keep his expression neutral. He knew the other coach wanted his job. He'd as much as admitted it during that whole Voodoo Tatum fiasco. "Rumors?"

"Oh, come on, Eric. There's no way that doctor would release you this soon without you pressuring him."

Eric didn't reply, he just sat down at the desk and pretended to read some papers.

"Look, I heard about the meeting the Boosters had, and I just want you to know, that as much as I want to be head coach, there's no way I'd take the position under these circumstances. The whole thing stunk worse than my grand dad's outhouse." Mack shook his head and muttered, "The sons a bitches. I just want you to know that I didn't have anything to do with their meeting, Eric."

Swallowing down his emotion, Eric nodded. "I appreciate that, Mack." He cleared his throat. "Now, how about we figure out how we're gonna to win tomorrow night?"

"Sounds good, Coach."

* * *

Eric and Mack hashed out a plan of attack. Other assistant coaches filtered in, showing their surprise and pleasure at seeing Eric back to work so soon. They all came over to shake his hand and see how he was doing. One coach accidentally clapped Eric on the back, causing Eric to bite back a curse, but he couldn't suppress a small grunt of pain.

Mack took his duties as Eric's voice seriously, and proceeded to ream the hapless coach up one side and down the other. "What the hell were you thinking, Joe?"

"It's okay, Mack. No harm done." Eric hated all the attention and as soon as possible, changed the subject to tomorrow's big game. After receiving updates about the players and who was looking good, Eric outlined a strategy. The other coaches nodded in agreement and voiced suggestions. "Okay, gentlemen, I'm just going to finish up some of this paperwork, and I'll meet you out at the field in a little bit."

Eric jotted down the suggestions. He heard the players changing in the locker room; the sound of their laughter and good-natured teasing washed over him like a healing balm. Damn, but it felt good to be back!

As the players finished dressing, they headed out to the field and Eric didn't have a chance to meet with them as a group. He tossed his pencil onto the desk and sat back. Most of the players had sent get-well cards and several besides Saracen and Riggins had even made brief visits to him in the hospital. He needed to thank them for their support.

And then there was Smash. His family had sent a card, but the player hadn't come to see him. Eric had hoped to swing by the kid's home, but Smash had just started a new job at the Alamo Freeze and had been working that night. The kid deserved some kind of recognition. Eric was a bit fuzzy on the details, but he knew he owed Smash his life. If Smash had waited even a few minutes more, even if Foster hadn't outright killed Eric, it wouldn't have mattered because Eric would have died before reaching surgery. Either way, Smash's actions had saved him.

* * *

Eric paused on the track that encompassed the football field; glad that he could catch his breath in private before facing the team. The players looked to be finishing up with their calisthenics. Now was a good time to address them, before they broke into groups. He straightened his shoulders and headed for the team.

"Hey! Coach!" Saracen was the first to spot him, and like an excited little kid, pointed at him and exclaimed, "Coach is here!"

Eric couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. Apparently, the other coaches had decided to keep his presence a secret.

The players all began talking to him excitedly and crowding around him. Eric laughed and held his hands up to quiet the players. "I'm fine. Calm down, y'all."

"Back off! Give the man some room!" Mack waded into the throng and herded the boys back. Eric was glad for Mack's help. Several of the players had ended up behind him as the team had swarmed around. Now he knew how it felt to be a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

When they finally settled down, Eric's gaze swept the team. "First, I want to say that, yes, I am back to work, but Mack will be doing all the real coaching this week. He's the boss and I'm just here to support him. I have complete confidence that he has done a great job of getting y'all ready for the game. I know it hasn't been easy with all the attention the team has received that was unrelated to the game." Eric nodded at Mack, who stood just a little straighter, his chin a notch higher at Eric's endorsement.

"Mack also gets to be the one to chew your asses out if you screw up because I'm under doctor's orders not to yell. I intend to sit back, relax and enjoy the game for once." Eric grinned.

The players laughed, and even Mack's serious expression cracked into a smile.

Eric's smile faded and the team grew quiet, sensing something more coming. He swallowed hard, his eyes landing on every player, but lingering longer on Riggins, Saracen and finally, Smash. Their shared experience had formed a bond between them that went beyond coach and players. Eric felt it, and he could see in their eyes and the uneasy way they shuffled their feet, that they felt it too.

"It's been a rough week or so. I wish I had been here to help y'all through it. There's been a lot of talk in the papers and on the news about the focus small towns and our town in particular places on football." Eric stopped for second to gather his thoughts and emotions. He put his hands on his hips and looked down. His own feelings were mixed on this. The pressure put on the kids was tremendous and not just for the players that make the team, but even for the kids who didn't.

He had been put under pressure too. Taking a deep breath, Eric looked up and continued, "You all are under a hell of a lot of pressure. I know that. We all feel it. The coaches. Me. We try to pretend it doesn't exist, but it's there." Some of the kids nodded, but avoided Eric's eyes. Others looked at the ground; a few rubbed their eyes.

Eric cleared his throat. "That pressure does not justify what Alan Foster did. He had issues that had nothing to do with us. Now, I know he had family problems, but I also know that some of you do too. The difference is, y'all choose to handle them like the young men that you are. You deal and you get by. You don't blame others for your problems. I am damn proud of the way you all handled yourselves in the face of this adversity. Lesser teams…lesser men-- would have crumbled."

Eric could see the effect his words were having on the kids. They were all looking at him now. Nobody looked away; their faces were serious and focused. "On a personal note, I want to take this time to thank Tim Riggins. He kept his head and remained calm. When it came time to make a move, he didn't hesitate. He showed what I always knew he had in him. That when the chips are down, he'll come through." Eric nodded at Riggins and the fullback gave him a short nod back. His face remained impassive, but Eric could see a new light in his eyes.

Before the team could say anything, Eric continued, "And my QB1, Matt Saracen. What can I say? You did what I told you to do and kept my daughter safe. Nothing means more to me."

Matt's face flushed, and he looked away, clearly not comfortable in the limelight. To lighten the mood, Eric quipped, "And I want a full report of what went on in that closet, Saracen."

The team chuckled and a few guys teased Matt. Eric didn't realize it was possible for someone's face to turn that shade of red.

When the laughter had subsided, Eric waited a moment. This was the hardest part. "Smash, could you come up here a moment."

The players parted to allow Smash to come forward.

Eric held out his hand. "I want to thank you and shake the hand of the man that saved our lives in there. What you did took a hell of a lot of courage and guts. I'm proud to be your coach. "

For once, Smash was speechless as he shook Eric's hand. The team erupted in applause and Eric pulled Smash in for a hug. "Thank you."

The End.

6/9/08--Author's Note: I am very puzzled. I posted this story in April-May 2007, and received a few comments initially. However, the last comment anyone has made was almost a year ago. In that time, approximately 500 people have read through to the last chapter. At least, it has that many hits on the hit counter, but I haven't heard a single thing on this fic. Does everyone hate it? Is there something wrong with it?

I just don't get it. I've posted comments on other FNL fics in that time. I'm about ready to pull all of my FNL fics from this archive since it seems there is no interest in them. If there is a problem with the story itself, I'd like to know so that I can try to fix it.

I hope you all enjoyed the story. I had fun writing it, and I'd love to hear comments, positive or negative.

A big, huge thank you to Monstermoof4mee for her constant prodding, instant feedback and suggestions in this whole fic and especially, the later chapters.

I also would like to thank Malkin for her quick read through and feedback on this last chapter. I trust her knowledge of the characters and needed someone to let me know if they sounded right. Thanks so much!--Maryilee


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